


Luigi's Boat

by UAZ469



Category: Super Mario & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adventure, Boats and Ships, Character Study, Detectives, Gen, Humor, Light-Hearted, No Romance, No Slash, POV Multiple, Realistic, Slow To Update, Thriller, Worldbuilding, wordy af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UAZ469/pseuds/UAZ469
Summary: Finally Luigi can go on a day trip to the sea undisturbed by his friends! Even on a historic ship! Well, at least it should have been a relaxed day until someone disappears on board. And they find hot goods in the cargo hold. And shady figures are on their heels. How is Luigi supposed to get home in time, preferably alive with all body parts still attached to him?
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment or review, even when they are negative!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: ThePkmnYPerson on DeviantArt

"Next stop: Port Alley. Please exit to your left."

Unconsciously, Luigi escaped a relieved breath and his mouth corners bent upwards. Finally, he would be able to flee the suffocating narrowness of the bus! No more getting the suitcase on the lap of his seat neighbour rammed into the side every time they took a right turn! And above all: his olfactory nerves would still experience tomorrow after being mercilessly attacked by the penetrating mixture of alcohol, perfume, deodorant, fast food, and sweat. After all, the air conditioning worked.

Then Luigi rose, his legs numb due to the hardly existing freedom, held on to the headrest of the man in front and prepared himself for the acrobatic act. In view of the sheer number of passengers, this was no easy task, as they almost stood on each other's feet and used one another as makeshift supports. Wouldn't a taxi have been better? Although, as expensive as they were on days like these ...

He just squeezed his way past the neighbour and his suitcase under a mumbled "Sorry.” What happened to his free space now was of no importance to him. Should they fall on top of each other, like the first two Toads, nagging who, in their opinion, deserved the seat more - which immediately turned into silence when the transport container found its way onto the cushion. And Mario always wondered why Luigi avoided the public transports like a Dry Bones fire.

The other passengers luckily made room for him as far as they could in the confinement and soon the plumber was standing in front of the exit. After the bus stopped a bit abruptly and almost caused some passengers to fall, the door opened with a noisy squeak and a heatwave hit him. Nothing that was allowed to stop Luigi: his sunglasses put on and a bottle of water in his hand, he stepped outside on the sidewalk.

* * *

As soon as he escaped the stuffy atmosphere, he took a deep breath and took a slow breath out. Fresh and unused and with a salty note; it wasn't far to the harbour anymore. Just walk a bit, then turn off and he would see the colour blue laid over the whole horizon like a gigantic carpet. According to his family doctor, it was also healthy for the respiratory tract, so let's-a go!

The younger brother strolled along the path with a smile on his face, watching people passing by and the flickering over the asphalt. There could not have been a better day for him: A cloudless sky, the sun turned every unprotected metre into a solarium and, very importantly, he was alone. With all the time it took for him to find, as the saying goes, his own centre. Or was it something else? Zen? Luigi didn't know exactly, but he didn't care. The main thing was peace and relaxation, camouflaged as a tourist thanks to Mario's tropical shirt and sunglasses. No one would disturb him now...

Suddenly it vibrated in his pocket.

The plumber moaned unnerved. It couldn't be his big brother, because he had asked him before he left to call him only in emergencies. Yes, Mario was alone with the Polterpup. But the ghost dog was an incredibly robust animal and had recovered from last week's incident. So it was unlikely it was sick again or had disassembled the whole furnishings out of frustration. Therefore, who, or what, was it?

* * *

Luigi didn't need a second to identify the number on the display as his own landline number. At the same time, a watery pearl detached itself from his forehead and ran down his skin. It didn't come from the heat. He gulped.

"H-Hello, Mario?" Luigi replied meekly. What if the dog actually had to go back to the vet?

"Bad news, little brother." His heart was beating against his chest and increased its speed. At that very moment, he took the liberty of asking himself when the next bus was leaving and he would arrive again. If necessary, he was able to postpone his planning to a later date. But the physical well-being of the pet had top priority! So he hesitantly inquired, "Is Jeremiah ill again?

"No, fortunately not." It didn't quite manage to take a load off the man in green's mind. Because that would mean that the dog had another problem instead, as Mario explained in the following, "But Jeremiah only lies in front of the door and can't be moved to do anything anymore. No food, no games, nothing at all." Luigi sighed and let his shoulders hang. He had expected that his departure would put a damper on the otherwise excellent mood of the ghost. But that bad?

"Oh, it will be alright," Luigi tried to reassure his brother. "I'll be back this evening."

"Well Luigi, shortly after your departure, he was a little down, albeit still lively. But then the postman mopping the floor with him afterwards was the final straw for him, I'm afraid." The flat hand landed uncontrollably on his forehead. Well, that explained a lot. As if a cat would let itself be beaten up by a mouse.

That called for his ‘secret weapon.’

"Hm, fine. Be so kind and give him the can at the top of the cupboard, please. That should get him going again."

His conversational partner paused for a moment until he thoughtfully replied, "Eh, I'm not that sure. It would really be better if you came back and took him with you."

* * *

Luigi was pushed energetically from behind towards the exit. Who would have thought that a Toad could develop such power when it was angry? Not that the plumber condemned him for it after what Jeremiah had done. But throwing him out outright? Did the captain also dispose of every guest who had one too many?

Shortly before the ramp to the pier, it stopped and Luigi regained his balance. Even before he could turn around to quickly apologize, he heard those words that continued to echo in his head as if it had been yesterday, "Get this transparent _spawn_ out of here."

The owner stared mercilessly at the two under his glasses, his finger accusingly pointing at the green dog in Luigi's arms. Behind them, several passengers sparkled angrily at them as cleaners prepared to mop up a puddle. The glowing eyes opened weakly until it rumbled audibly in his stomach and he had to retch. Disgusted, the captain took two steps back, but his grim face didn't lighten even when it stayed inside this time.

"I-I'm sorry, I-I didn't want to—"

"Get. It. Out."

It didn't help. As a result, Luigi finally left the ship with his head bowed in silence. They would never board a ship together again.

* * *

Always these flashbacks in the worst moments.

"But then he gets seasick again and then we have this fuss again," Luigi contradicted. "No, that won't work, unfortunately." At the other end, he heard incomprehensible murmurs for an answer until it became clearer.

"Very well, then I won't stop you any longer. But please hurry, okay? It really hurts to see the little man like that".

"You can wait for me at the pier if you want, or I'll take a taxi. Until then, send Jeremiah kind regards from me!"

"Will do. Have fun and a beautiful evening!”

"Thanks. You too!”

That would be finally resolved. And where had he stopped? In the truest sense of the word: wasn't there a turn to the facilities? Or, wait, where did the sea suddenly come from? And the ships? And the two seagulls, where one distracted an angler while the other stole a fish? He pulled up a brow and scratched his head. Could he reach the Beanbean Kingdom on foot with his mobile phone on his ear as if controlled by another person? He had to try it out at some point.

But now on to what he had actually come for: a day trip on the high seas! Feeling the wind on his skin, tasting the salt on his tongue, and the chilly water on his face. Maybe even swim one or two rounds and test his stamina in front of hungry sharks? At this thought, however, Luigi promptly flinched. He probably wouldn’t do that, but the rest were still on the table. The only thing missing was the right boat for his ambitions.

* * *

This weekend, it was remarkably quiet at the harbour. Normally the passers-by drowned out the omnipresent noise of the water. Today, however, they were to be found only sporadically. Was it the transition to autumn? After a brief look around, tourist groups from the Beanbean Kingdom seemed to be in the majority. Even the otherwise so popular tavern "Wet Bandit Inn" was, if his eyes did not deceive him, surprisingly empty. He wondered what Toad Town had to offer in terms of sights. Apart from the castle, of course. But was the place really that attractive? Not that he knew anything about the industry. But he really wouldn't mind a private audience with Prince Peasley - why was he suddenly so warm? Even more than usual? A quick sip from the bottle had to help - unfortunately without the hoped-for effect.

And lo and behold, a compact double-decker was already waiting for customers at the pier on the left with the ramp down, quite classically with a paddlewheel at the rear. This should be a very relaxed day ... His legs froze and his face distorted with pain. Were those crowds at the railing of this modernized paddle steamer? How they almost threatened to crush each other and the barge probably sank with man and mouse as soon as only one kilogram more was added? Had he missed a certain trend, a hype? With the exception of the paddlewheel, it didn't differ at all from the other passenger ships in terms of appearance and equipment! Basically a floating, painted brick! Where was the courage for something new?

Disappointed, Luigi turned away. At neighbouring piers, more ships wanted to court for his attention and money. Could the next one to the right reach him?

* * *

The moment he had his sights set on it, something unusual came into view. So secretly hidden and yet conspicuous, like a sporty speedster in the parking lot of a poor settlement. Round and narrow, it towered above all the other barges and the national flag of the Mushroom Kingdom adorned the top. The plumber closed his eyes and put his full concentration into it: Wasn't that one of those round poles used to hold the sails below the flag? A real mast?! His lips formed a grin. Finally something original for a change! He absolutely had to look at it.

The closer he came, the more he could see from this mast. A real mast basket! And these tensioned ropes towards the ground, shrouds to be climbed? Now Luigi couldn't stop his anticipation any longer, as much as his mouth was bent upwards, new strength flowed into his legs and he jumped like a child before the presents. Set sails, climb the rigging, cast off, fire! That such ships still existed today! As a rule, they were leanings that had nothing in common with their role models except for the approximate silhouette. Basically, it was a great pity to simply let the witnesses of long past craftsmanship fall into the ravages of time. In his opinion, these awful copies simply didn't do them justice.

* * *

But his euphoria came to an abrupt end when his chest collided with something hard, his body was pushed back and Luigi immediately landed on his buttocks with an "Ouch!” The image before his eyes lost its sharpness for a few seconds, as long as the blood needed to return to its regular pathways. What had he hit there? Accidentally run into a lantern? But as soon as he could see clearly again, he looked up; there! This green-headed man with a crutch there, who walked the ghost hunter's route in the opposite direction and paid no attention to him. Did he think he alone owned the road? Threateningly, Luigi raised his fist and opened his mouth to give this unfriendly gentleman his opinion. In the end, however, reason prevailed. It would have been counterproductive to start a quarrel now. Nevertheless, he could not let go of him. Why did he wear these strange clothes, especially in the heat? His head was covered by a tricorn with a feather and most of his back disappeared behind a long green coat. Only the soles of his shoes, or boots, peered out from underneath. According to Luigi's knowledge, the costume festival was at least half a year ago and he could not imagine how the poor Beanish had to sweat under it. In the end, he just shrugged his shoulders. If this gentleman enjoyed it, who was he to stop him?

Soon the electrifying joy of thinking about the ship returned and catapulted him to his feet. This drove Luigi on.

* * *

Finally, behind a rusty trawler, the sloping, windowless stern displayed itself. After initial superficial inspection, it was about eight metres wide and made entirely of wood; somewhat greenish, rotten and partly covered with algae, but wood and not cheap plastic. Below it, as it should have been, there was a narrow rudder blade. Just like the other vessels, it was attached to the pier by ropes to bollards, two in this case.

This had to be his lucky day today. Not only going to sea for once but also on a historical relic. Here he could emulate the adventure stories of his former heroes, especially Captain Goombeard. Did they also have cannons on board? Rather unlikely, but for him, the guns belonged to the vessels of past epochs.

Examining the rudder blade again, he noticed several cables and hoses to his displeasure. At the upper end of the blade, there was a small opening on the hull, which was completely occupied by said pipes and which ran into the water. Apparently, an engine had been installed under the surface. A small sin for him, but nothing dramatic as long as it could travel on its own with the help of the sails. Everyone probably had to move with the time if they didn't want to end up on the scrap heap.

Next, he worked his way to the starboard side. It was here that he saw the bulbous hull, in stark contrast to the slender constructions of the modern age, and noticed how tiny the ship looked compared to the others. Twenty-five meters, he estimated, sounded like an impressive length - when the vehicle stood for itself. Luigi was firmly convinced that without the main mast, it would be almost invisible between the larger models. Then an idea shot through his mind: Wouldn't that be worth a petition? Special moorings for "oldtimers"?

The side of the ship was too high to detect any movements on deck, so Luigi relied on his hearing and listened: Apart from the creaking of the hull, he didn't hear any other noises suggesting the presence of other passengers. The ship didn't seem to have a ramp. Instead, the deck had to be reached via a rope ladder. Was Luigi really the first customer? Impossible! He couldn't be the only one who had a place in his heart for veteran boats!

* * *

He grasped his chin with one hand, frowned and took a closer look at the planking. Surely the multitude of holes nailed up with wooden boards in a rough-and-ready way could not be the reason for this - as the originator, he suspected cannonballs because of their size. Didn't it explicitly prove the reliability of the vehicle to remain functional even under the most severe damage? What could be the reason for the lack of popularity then? The beak-shaped bow? The figurehead whose humanoid torso did not really want to harmonize with the head of a chicken? Or the name "Soup Hen" in white directly next to it on a planned spot? Well, with a name like that, the plumber had to admit to himself that as an average consumer he would also have little desire to set sail. Who seriously wanted to go down in history with the famous "Soup Hen"? That sounded so out of place for him, he was ninety-nine percent _sure_ that it had to be a mistake. If he were back in the house later, he'd have to do some research.

After all the information about this barge he had gotten thanks to his professional powers of observation, he stuck out his chest swelling with pride, adjusted his cap and was finally ready to tell the world what piece of history they had here. No doubt about it.

Luigi had no idea what it was.

* * *

"Excuse me, may I disturb you for a moment?"

"Hm? Oh-oh, I'm sorry!" He hadn't registered at first that he had just been addressed. He was too attached to the name, staring at the damaged spot underneath, trying to force the wood to make a statement.

So he spun around and tore his sunglasses off his face.

"Am I correct in assuming that you want to sail with this carrack?" A young, grown-up bean woman presented herself to him with a tender smile, wearing a straw hat, a handbag and brightly coloured clothes. A scratched camera with a long lens hung around her neck. Luigi was by no means an expert at it, but he believed that the appliance had to be worth a lot when undamaged. And who spent so much money on cameras if not photographers?

Nevertheless, the plumber dutifully started to answer, "So, I—".

"Wait, I haven't introduced myself yet!" she suddenly hastily cut him off and stretched out her right hand to him, embarrassed. "Beanelda Hornblower, at your service!" Luigi, although not unsettled by this reaction, accepted the handshake and reacted friendly, "Just call me Luigi. Very pleased to make your acquaintance." He had deliberately withheld his surname. Otherwise, he would have run the risk of either being confused with his famous brother or he was immediately recognized as the "legendary stay-at-home". A title he wanted to sink to the bottom of the sea.

* * *

"So you want to sail, huh?"

Luigi nodded. "At least I intend to. But every trace of the captain seems to be missing. Why do you ask?"

"Just because I'm happy about anyone who shares the same passion as me." Then, before the plumber could answer, the woman turned to the ship, threw her arms wide up and raised her voice theatrically. "Historical ships like this still wonderfully preserved carrack here! Although with an admittedly embarrassing name, but nevertheless a piece of culture of our two kingdoms to preserve!" If Luigi learned one thing about Beanelda from this conversation, it was that she could not be accused of lacking enthusiasm. Moreover, she seemed to be very well versed in the area, as quickly as she recognized the type of ship. For the common layman, every wooden ship might look identical, except in size. For this, she deserved his admiration without ifs and buts.

"Well, I don't know if you can call it passion," Luigi laughed. "But let's say that I find these old cockleshells fascinating. What brings you to the Mushroom Kingdom, if one may ask?"

She happily showed him her camera and opened her handbag, in which additional lenses and spare rolls were stored. What Luigi could buy from all the invested money... What would have become of the accumulated riches of his ghost excursions if the professor hadn't put them into the new mansion himself beforehand?

"For my blog 'Seafaring through the ages' I travel around the world to immortalize remaining exemplars in pictures. My film may be destroyed one day, but thanks to the internet, my media will last forever." A crooked smile scurried across the plumber's face and the blue sky filled his view. If she really wanted to believe that someone would still care about any blog in a hundred years...

* * *

"Well, shall we, then?", Beanelda replied no less enthusiastically and pointed to the rope ladder. "Come on, let's board the Soup Hen!" She had to giggle involuntarily while pronouncing the name and promptly infected Luigi with it but recovered herself to move again. The plumber stopped uncertainly though. Were they allowed to enter a strange ship without paying? Didn't that fall under trespass?

"Now don't be a pedant, the adventure does not wait for changelings!"

A lid twitched. Pedant?! This word alone was enough to unravel Luigi's entangled rigging in his brain and blow wind into his sails with a colossal gas burner. He would give Beanelda "pedant"! Even more, he would show her _how_ ready he was! _So_ ready, he could jump into the water and push the carrack while strangling a kraken and playing the accordion! Whether all this could be accomplished as a two-armed being was another matter, but it was the thought that counted.

Meanwhile, the woman quickly pulled herself up the ladder like a monkey, which was acknowledged by Luigi with a slightly open mouth. Wouldn't Mario and Beanelda make the perfect couple? Amused, Luigi imagined how both climbed the skyscrapers of the city by wall jumps, observed the stars on the roofs at night and afterwards, if only silence reigned around them...

He grabbed his nose in a baffled manner. The plumber urgently had to write letters to Daisy again and ask if she could spare time at some point. Thanks to the creator, Jeremiah couldn't read, as he had already found some of the poems in the cupboards and had only tried to eat them so far. Or it was his personal kind of protest. Hopefully, the princess wouldn't cut and run when she found out that he had a ghost.

"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!", he shouted with enthusiasm, only to rush up to the ladder and climb it afterwards. However, he was denied the same speed, as he was constantly slipping. The gentle rocking of the ship didn't help. How did the woman manage to do that? His breath accelerated considerably, it gradually became damp in his back and aching pains spread in his arms. He slowly suspected that she was not a photographer, but a pirate in the wrong century.

* * *

One last move. The other fingers were already clinging to the edge, and...

A glistening light turned everything into a bright white, accompanied by moving dots and a scream from Luigi. Is this what being stunned with the strobulb felt like?

"Oops, sorry!" A colourful shadow, which shortly afterwards turned out to be Beanelda, ran around the deck, cheering and taking pictures of every imaginable corner of the ship. Their curiosity was so inspiring that the ghost hunter had to tear his attention away from the anchor and resist the seductive voice that ordered it to be dropped immediately. He could do so later once they had located the captain. How convenient that the Soup Hen was so small.

First of all, however, he took a breather.

In the meantime, while his travel companion was constantly running from corner to corner and the frenzy of flashes would not stop, Luigi turned his focus aft. Especially because the shape of the carrack reminded him of Bowser's airships and their cabins were housed in the stern. He didn't question the "why"; wasn't it basically the same question as left or right-hand traffic? In the end, one had to decide on one of both.

On his level, hidden in the shade, he first discovered a kind of large, curved wooden block on which a wooden rod sat on rollers which then led further outside. This had to be the rudder post how it was used on average sailing boats. Conversely, did this mean that the Soup Hen had a tiller instead of a steering wheel? How much strength would it take? He definitely believed Mario to be capable of giving the ship the agility of a motorboat. Relatively speaking.

On the right, a steep staircase led up to the, if his knowledge didn't let him down now, aft deck of the hull tapered upwards. Since Luigi doubted that a captain would make himself comfortable deep inside the ship, except to have an excuse to drink the rum, he decided to continue his search up there.

After the first steps, already another rod built itself up over the planks, together with an engine order telegraph. Most probably the tiller. Behind it followed the actual goal of his search - the door on the right to the captain's quarters. And if that wasn't the cabin, Luigi didn't know what else to do.

The plumber thought about calling Beanelda, but immediately changed his mind when he found her hanging upside down on one of the shrouds. Wasn't she at the end of her rope yet? Why did he get the impression that he was doing something fundamentally wrong with his fitness? How could he run and jump without any problems, but be ready for the chair after a rope ladder? Anyway, why didn't he burn in a volcano or freeze in icy climes? Shaking his head, he resigned himself to live in a world full of unsolved questions. In a world where he felt like he was attracting every ghost, like princesses to all sorts of villains.

Immediately the famous keeper of home and court knocked on the door seven times. The first six in quick succession, the seventh with an interval of one second. Pure habit, rooted in the subconscious. Then he coughed once, cleared his throat, and stood straight as a die with crossed hands in front of his stomach. This should allow everyone to see how important he took the matter. Or whether he was the equivalent of a tuxedo on the construction site, depending on who one asked.

So he waited. Stared at the door. Blinked only when it burned. Counted loose splinters and seconds. One, two, three, four... Where would he look when someone opened? Up, down, in the middle, with his back? Was the captain alive or, oh horror, a ghost? Did an owner _exist at all_? Did the bottle in his pocket reduce his chances of a successful conversation? Did the rumbling noises originate from Beanelda or inside?

* * *

Suddenly, the door swung open with a forced squeak - at the threshold, the ghost hunter was greeted by a fast breathing Toad, in addition to a smell that seemed to testify to an aversion to water in combination with shower gel. The sudden urge to apologize and go to the nearest perfumery, optionally to the laundromat and burn his clothes was strong, but he got too far to give up now. Nevertheless, he subjected the mushroom creature to an imaginary drug test after his shiny forehead caught his eye. Test result: Temporarily passed, pupils not dilated and no bleeding area on the body. But his pea coat and cap were amazingly clean. Except for the dark stains under the armpits, of course. Not that Luigi's own looked better.

The owner started immediately and his lips, surrounded by a light beard shadow, eloquently formed one word, "Yeah?"

Oh, someone who wanted to get straight to the point! That simplified the communication immensely. And his hanging upper eyelids and rigid expression made sure that the stay-at-home clearly preferred a short conversation. A little courtesy was still necessary though.

"Hello, we—"

"Bla bla bla."

"Well, I was going to ask—"

"I'm busy."

"Is your ship—"

"Mine."

"Are you going out to sea?"

"Yes."

"Can we go with you?"

"Help us untie and we can set sail." He pointed past Luigi to a rope that was attached to the starboard side by a hook. The other one was hidden by the deck.

"What about the money?"

"Later."

"Thank you."

Excellent!

* * *

Because Luigi didn't have the impression to be wanted any longer, he ended the very constructive conversation with a quiet nod. So it didn't surprise him that the captain withdrew silently behind the door and was about to slam it in his face. But not without first catching a glimpse, as long as the Toad was distracted: the dark cabin appeared empty even in relation to its small size, arousing the aesthetics of a prison cell. Although, from his position, he could only see the footboard of a messy bed. However, even before the door finally slammed shut loudly, he outlined the contours of a large rectangular container on the blanket - was that a suitcase? What did the owner want with it on the high seas, if there was nothing except the endless vastness of the sea? Isle Delfino was best reached by plane anyway.

But that shouldn't be his concern. A grin spread across his face as he looked over his shoulder to the hook on the main deck and the longer he let it soak in, the wider his grin got. He was a sailor! Part of a team! Entrusted with ensuring that the carrack worked at maximum efficiency. Even if it was just to undo the ship from its shackles. The grin turned into childish laughter in a fraction of a second and the plumber, sailor, tourist, who or whatever he thought he was, sprinted off, slipped down the ladder and got to work on the first knot.

* * *

In his zeal, he pulled and shook wildly at the ropes, wanting to get it over with as fast as possible. How hard could that be? At least nothing compared to tangled rubber bands that required the precision of a machine. To his confusion, however, he found that his efforts had unintentionally provided a bombproof grip. Groaning, he dropped his head. He would have to cut that. But with what? Hectically, he searched the shrouds where he had last seen Beanelda. He wouldn't have been surprised if she had other equipment in her handbag next to her lenses.

"Up here!"

He couldn't believe it. After rubbing his eyes, he found her waving in the mast basket. To get in at all, she would have had to stand on the dangerously narrow rope, bend backwards and pull up in one move. This woman _had_ to be a pirate. "Feel free to come up, the view is—"

"No thanks", Luigi replied with raised hands like a ball out of a cannon. "I'd rather stay down here. Listen, can you help me untie, please? I'm afraid I screwed up..."

"And _how_ you have, you moron." The plumber buckled with clenched teeth. He turned cautiously, trying to escape the captain's wrath as long as possible. With his arms crossed, the Toad stood in front of him and tapped impatiently on the floor with a shoe until he whispered, "I have to do everything myself, one absolutely can't rely on you landlubbers at all." His hand quickly dipped under the fabric and produced a knife with a saw blade. "Get away, you'd only amputate your fingers." Luigi made room for the man and he looked after him as he climbed on a crate as he could not reach the hook otherwise, then put on the knife and started to cut the rope, grumbling.

* * *

"Uh, Luigi? The—" Screeching, he jumped up, spun around in the air and caught his cap thanks to his trained reflexes. Beanelda had appeared in front of him, her forehead frowned. How did the photographer get back here so fast?

Trembling, he scolded her, "Heavens, don't scare me like that! My dog does that often enough already!" But she just smiled.

"Here, you should have a look," she whispered and pointed her thumb backwards. Both passengers waited until the Toad had loosened the second rope and thrown it into the water.

"Okay," the captain reported emotionlessly and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Ready or not, we're going." So he stomped back up the stairs, stretched his head over the outer skin - and suddenly ran up the remaining steps to the aft deck. As soon as he had escaped their eyes, Beanelda rubbed her hands.

"Come on now, before he looks for us!" With these words, she grabbed a stunned Luigi and dragged him to port. But the plumber couldn't make out anything unusual: On the right, the quay continued to the marina, onwards the wooded cliffs rose, while on the left, just more sea was waiting. This was until he felt a hand on his neck and his head was pushed down. His annoyance about it, however, subsided on the spot after he had seen what was tied next to the hull.

A water scooter?

* * *

"Luigi, I don't like this." _Not_ seeing a smile on Beanelda's face for once made him suspect that she was serious. But he didn't want to think of any reason why a wetbike should be a bad sign. It could have been a replacement for a lifeboat, as small as the Soup Hen was. At least Luigi couldn't find a place for one right away. Therefore he gave his opinion soberly, "Well, I do not see the problem. If he saves people in distress, he can do it with a water scooter if he likes." Right in the middle of it, the Soup Hen started to move sluggishly, the sails still lowered.

"But isn't that weird? Why not moor up a lifeboat? Next to the driver, just one person fits on it anyway." Smiling Luigi looked aside. This woman was obviously eager to prove that the captain was involved in sinister machinations. He better not tell her about the suitcase. Otherwise, the chaos would be perfect and the tabloid would be richer with a piece of news, "Crazy tourist attacks captain on his own ship. Discussions about refusals of entry."

Here he saw himself forced to intervene decisively.

"Mrs Hornblower," he said with an unusual severity in tone, "let's not get carried away. So far, there are no signs that the man is doing anything crooked. So as long as we don't have any concrete evidence, I can only advise you to keep the waves down. Alright?" At first, she just stared at him silently. Then she looked suspiciously up to the aft deck and put her hands in her trouser pockets.

"Alright." It might have sounded understanding, but in combination with her behaviour, it was not very convincing for Luigi. Before he could do anything, however, she had already turned away from him and clung to the rigging again. Now, as long as she camped in the crow's nest and didn't sabotage their trip, all was fine.

* * *

Supporting himself with his arms at the edge of the starboard, he followed their departure. Some passers-by did the same, but most of them pursued their daily work without any interest. What did they all miss?! Well, their loss, his profit. He would boast about it in front of everyone. Could he have copies of Beanelda's photos? Jeremiah and Mario would certainly be curious to know with what kind of ship he set out on his adventure on. The former probably less so long as his master came home in good shape.

Last but not least, the sails were set. The plumber was astonished, as the cloth went down like a garage door. What he had initially thought to be parts of the rigging turned out to be flexible guide rails afterwards. Personally, he considered these attachments to be similar to the engine, an impairment of the "natural beauty". But it appeased him to see the sails turning, catching the wind, and generally doing their job despite patched holes, thus giving the carrack a slight speed boost. The only question that remained was whether they could be operated manually if necessary.

In the end, to celebrate their successful departure, he drank the rest of his bottle in one go.

And sang.

"Yo ho yo ho, a pirate's life for me!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: ThePkmnYPerson on DeviantArt

He could watch the movements of the rudder post cross-legged for hours. According to the numbness in his bottom, it must have been hours. For Luigi, in its simple yet effective functioning, this mechanism exerted an attraction that bordered on fascination. It was hard for him to believe that the shipbuilders of that time could build such complex sailing ships without the technology available today; especially the rigging of which each component had to be accurately measured and fastened. And before the steering wheel was invented, they made use of basically extended sticks. Together with the special feature that it had to be steered against the direction of travel. How many accidents did this cause in the past?

Suddenly the planks under him vibrated and creaked at short intervals until it ended abruptly and Luigi felt a presence in his back. The weird photographer, armed with new theories about the dirty business of the toad? Or the captain himself, who finally wanted to see his money? Secretly, the plumber wondered why he didn't first insist on a full cash register. Although, in that respect, it should be clear: either they paid him, or he would abandon them in the middle of the sea. Without any prospect of help arriving before he made the long way to the bottom. The place that became the final resting place for many ships.

Just as he gave his inner cinema free reign, his hair stood on end: He would never have thought to say that about himself, but in that case, he would have preferred every ghost house. From there he could at least flee; rather difficult in the middle of the blue nothingness. Paired with the certainty that one didn't know what was lurking beneath the surface. Wasn't it paradoxical to have explored most of outer space while the oceans of his own planet remained a mystery?

* * *

"How much longer do you plan to actually sit here?" asked a female voice, where Luigi wasn't sure if there was a touch of amusement. "But if the rudder fascinates you so much and your bottom can endure it, don't let me bother you. I just wanted to point out that there's more to the Soup Hen than just the main deck." She fell silent, probably to wait for the plumber's reaction. When that didn't happen, especially since Luigi was still about to turn to her, she grumbled quietly and added, "At least more than the rudder post."

The ghost hunter glanced past her to the resting anchor on the ship's side. True, why shouldn't he get up and look at the rest? Didn't he want to let the anchor into the water anyway? At full speed, this was a... suboptimal idea of course, but the inner child made it through. It was simply too tempting to throw all worries into the wind and just do it for the fun of it. As everyone knew, especially the forbidden things exerted a great appeal.

But first, he had to get up. A somewhat more laborious undertaking, as the legs also had fallen asleep.

"You know, this isn't a bad idea at all" Luigi agreed and gratefully took Beanelda's hand which she offered immediately when his awkwardness was noticed. Still, the ghost hunter swayed from side to side like a drunk. But soon the blood circulated in the circuits and brought back full stability.

* * *

Then he asked the lady, "What brings you down from the crow's nest anyway?"

"Well," she replied hesitantly and rubbed the back of her head, "I had to find out that it's actually quite boring when you can't see anything but water, water and more water." Luigi hunched his shoulders and turned his palms outwards, commenting objectively, "I could have told you that as well. I reckon the sailors at that time had to partially struggle to not die of boredom."

"And that for weeks without calling at a port?" Beanelda continued the thought seamlessly and the plumber nodded with a serious face. The eyes of his interlocutor jumped nervously back and forth, unable to grasp a point until they sluggishly looked at the ground. Did their romantic idea of a sailor, who experienced daring adventures, wrote down in memoirs and received the honours of a hero at home, just snap in two like a hit mast? Thus the woman appeared to him like a child who had to digest that Santa Claus didn't exist. Shouldn't especially she know about it?

But Luigi didn't want to be like that. Immediately he touched her arm, received a surprised expression on her face and said with a wink, "Come, let's explore the vessel together. Would be a pity if you couldn't show me one or two things, huh?" Where once was a mouth that drifted off into sulking bit by bit, there was now a bow bent skywards and in her eyes, the same passion with which the plumber most likely associated with her was ignited.

"Right! Better than getting upset about the portrayal of seafarers in the media!" Beanelda turned her back to him on the spot and approached a small hatch, embedded in front of the mainmast. The plumber was satisfied: That way the lady wouldn't come across such outrageous ideas like distracting the toad so that she could search his cabin. He followed her.

* * *

In no time at all had she opened the centrally divided plate and waved Luigi over. But she didn't even wait for him to come and immediately dived down inside. Not only Mario, but also his Polterpup would have been in good hands with the young adult considering his energy and enthusiasm for new things. Just as both of them romped through the big wide world and could find joy even in the smallest stone...

Just laid a tormenting heaviness over his head, forcing it to the ground, pulled down his cheeks, filled his thoughts with a single question: What could he offer the dog anyway? His "mansion" wasn't a luxury dwelling, equipped with old furniture and utensils instead. Money for premium food was also rarely available, not to mention the latest toys. So why didn't the ghost run away long ago to find an owner who could give him a life in plenty? Luigi only had time! Certainly, he was, almost, always there when Jeremiah needed someone to play, walk and be physically close. However: what was the value of time if he lacked the rest?

* * *

"Are you coming now, or are you gonna stand there all day?" As suddenly as this paralysis appeared, it vanished again with Beanelda's loud reminder. Shaking off the last remnant, Luigi went to the hatch light-heartedly - and stopped firmly. The deck below was filled with a darkness that surely promised a welcome refuge to ghosts. Were there no lamps in operation? The bit of light from the hatch and the holes in the walls only helped marginally against the darkness. The mansion built by boos in just one night came to his mind unintentionally, where he walked through the door for the first time in search of Mario and was soon attacked in the salon. Full of uneasiness, he wiped his forehead, breathing quickly. Hadn't a shadow just moved in a corner?

"What's the matter, afraid of ghosts?" the photographer mocked laughing at the bottom of the stairs, only recognizable by her clothes. Luigi's face became just as gloomy as the room itself: if she only knew what he had had to deal with... He swore that if they met even one astral figure in it, he would use her as a shield! And then capture the vessel and steer it straight home. And go to jail. Still a better option than drifting alone on the sea or wandering around in a haunted house. Jeremiah could visit him in his cell at any time.

But not today, not now. Once he took a deep breath and let his finger bones crack, he stepped on the first step. A short break, then the second. When the stairs weren't transformed into a monster or a slide to his delight, he sprinted down the last steps and stopped next to Beanelda.

* * *

In the steerage that smelled subliminally of fish, the sound of the sea was almost contained, giving way to the groaning wood. Not only under the soles, but also from the sides and from above. No place where the plumber voluntarily wanted to stay longer, especially not for sleeping. How did the crew endure this hundreds of years ago? Perhaps it also came from the age and it would have been quite pleasant at that time. If one forgot about the dozens of sailors of course; each with his own hammock, some snoring loudly, others still partying or playing. A youth hostel, on the other hand, seemed to be a children's birthday party.

As expected and feared, storm lanterns hung on the masts and walls, but they were switched off. However, as soon as the eyes had adapted to the lighting, at least the coarsest could be seen: a few barrels and crates up ahead at the bow, a table with a chest in front of those and two buckets next to it. So far without cannons though, as Luigi had to discern disappointedly.

His companion didn't want to waste time any longer and let herself be attracted by the chest, but noticed the open hatch too late and stumbled over the edge - in a lightning-fast reflex, which was preceded by a shrill scream, Luigi grabbed Beanelda by the shirt and pulled her back with sufficient momentum so that she fell back and buried him under her. A short, quiet moment, then they laughed.

"Could you be a little quieter, please? We want to sleep here!" He was too busy standing through the throbbing pain in his chest and back moaning to let himself be intimidated by the unknown voice. So he looked at the stern while lying down, where they hadn't looked yet. Two deck chairs next to a ladder, that's what it looked like to him in the dark, with moving silhouettes on them, crystallizing themselves over and over only to merge with the darkness again. No glow in the colours of the rainbow, so he didn't have to jump up and ask the captain for a vacuum cleaner.

* * *

"Really, back when I was still in the army, they would have let us walk through the woods at least ten times for disturbing the peace! Fully loaded! Twenty kilometres there and back! And then a hundred push-ups! Those who had no arms had to break stones with their heads until the officer got tired of the tragedy! Afterwards..." From then on, Luigi only perceived the words as a peripheral phenomenon, just as the waves belonged to the background noises of a harbour and were only picked up consciously when one decided to listen. Yes, definitely not a ghost. They wouldn't have wasted their time with long monologues and came down on him like a ton of bricks instead.

"I, I apologize for my husband," his neighbour spoke warmly with the security of a grandmother and giggled. "He has... well, how can you say... become somewhat cynical. Believe me, he doesn't mean it personally."

"And HOW I mean it! Look at this beanpole, he can neither lift nor walk a hundred metres without collapsing! And someone like that is allowed to have arms!" A sabre pierced his heart, parallel to the pressure that built up under his eyes. Beanelda had risen in the meantime and offered him her hand to pull up; it couldn't come from that.

Once again the elderly lady of an unknown race spoke in his direction, "Just don't pay attention to him. He likes to talk when the day is long." It was at this point where Luigi slowly asked himself whether both were married and if so, he should express his condolences to her. The ghost hunter couldn't, _didn't want_ to imagine how she survives to live together with him. Better he fled right into the cargo hold, otherwise the oddball might get the idea of demonstrating what he had learned in the military. If he was a soldier at all and not a latrine cleaner.

* * *

Meanwhile, he separated from the photographer and moved to the stairs. But not before blocking his ears with mental power. At the same time, he begged quietly to not be drawn into a conversation by the two. Just don't make eye contact, just don't look at them, just don't...

"What's your name, young man?" Aggravated, he clenched his fists. Just a handful of footsteps were left! Now he couldn't just walk without a word or sneak away with a lie; his upbringing forbade it. And if he learned one thing from observing a quarrel between his brother and a hearing-impaired pensioner one time, it was the seniors who could teach one the meaning of fear. Seeking help, he looked back to Beanelda, but she was already rumbling noisily in one of the chests. He tightened his gloves: he had to survive that alone.

"Luigi, very pleased', he replied slightly bowed, completely without signs of his strained nerves. Quick, it was now a matter of throwing his own question at her before she told of her grandchildren! "What brings you both to the Soup Hen, if one may ask?"

"Only our golden wedding. Therefore we thought—"

"Soup Hen?", her husband interrupted her in disbelief and jumped up. "I thought we were going on the Iron Nessie!" Then he yelled, "Damn it, Pira T.! I should have known something was wrong when we were the only ones on board, everything creaked and reeked of fish!"

"But Goombekker, honey, it's only healthy for your respiratory tract!"

"I don't care, I hate fish! Period!

"I won't be spoken to like that!"

"Now don't be such a baby, I—"

This could probably be called quite lucky in the circumstances, immediately opening the ideal escape route for Luigi. Now or never! Sneakingly, he overcame the remaining distance while crouching and began his descent into the cargo hold. But not without sighing at the ceiling and letting an index finger circle next to his head first. _They_ celebrated their golden wedding anniversary?

A light was on down below.

* * *

As soon as he arrived, he walked crooked, sent out a half-suppressed scream, swayed to the side and had to reach for the rungs in order to prevent falling over. He nervously ridiculed his own carelessness. Luigi might have known that he wouldn't find an even floor in the depths. Except for the difference that it was only at second glance that he noticed what he was currently standing on: a rib of the hull. Despite its age, the artificial ribcage carried the structure tirelessly and withstood the forces of nature at all times. Together with the planks, everything that kept the sea from crushing every living creature below deck. He actually knew that he had nothing to fear. Such barges had been built for the high seas and therefore could solely be sunk by force majeure and attacks. And yet: there was this feeling, this nagging that pulverized his confidence like sand. Too many memories of apparently safe situations that had nevertheless ended in disaster by every trick in the book. An inadequately tested pixelator by E. Gadd, which had even been manipulated by King Boo, finally cemented that anything that could go wrong _would_ go wrong. What prevented a befuddled whale from colliding with the Soup Hen and tearing down most of the wall? Being below the waterline was tantamount to a death trap for the ghost hunter, where no one could predict when it would go off.

Therefore, he decided to look through this deck superficially at most and then leave on the spot.

* * *

The clamour of the unequal couple could still be heard clearly. When did it stop? Not foreseeable for the plumber. Almost as if they were duelling with the hull about who of them could drive Luigi's desire for an ear protection up. Another reason why he wanted to go up again.

In contrast to the upper floor, all the lamps on the walls and masts were switched on. Some dark corners remained nevertheless, but with friends and comfortable furniture, he couldn't deny the place a discreet homely atmosphere. In addition, a bit of food for the nerves and light alcoholic drinks and the floating rumpus room was created. He was amazed at how light could influence the effect of a room. Without the lamps, Luigi was sure he would have gotten a heart attack.

Towards the bow though, planks had been laid out. Like the steerage, a large square opening was present for loads, although it surprised the stay-at-home why a cover was missing. Beanelda could have seriously injured herself. Presumably early cost-saving measures? Who cared about occupational safety when volunteers queued?

Apart from that, there was little to be worth seeing. At the back, barrels were stacked with some distance to the walls so that one could pass them. And a moving… _thing_ , which hid behind the mainmast, but emitted a white light around it.

* * *

As such, Luigi had seen everything here and would have been ready to return. Since he was already here, however, and the white light stood out _too_ much for his taste given the yellow tones present, he couldn't help but give in to his curiosity. Especially because it seemed to wander. Possibly a hanging light bulb? Considering that it hadn't been mounted in the middle though, it likely was the result of quite a sloppy installation work. Afterwards, under a sudden outbreak of sweat, he thought of a ghost but quickly rejected the theory again because the lamps were on after all.

Luigi carefully balanced from frame to frame until he reached the planks and took up position in front of the mast. Then he looked out from the side...

As if pulled by Donkey Kong, he snapped back, pressed his back against the fortification, opened his eyes wide and held his breath. This white, round body. The stubby arms. The two little black eyes under lowered brows. The huge grinning mouth that looked like it had been widened in all dimensions with invisible tape. The oversized headphones and the headscarf.

"Are you all right?" His fingers only pressed harder against the wood and if he had Mario's muscle power, he would have drilled holes. Slowly he turned his head to the side - their eyes met, the creature directly in his comfort zone. And with ghosts, except Jeremiah, this was nearly one kilometre. As the crow flies.

* * *

"You look white as a sheet," King Boo's minion continued and he took off his earphones. "Do you suffer from constipation? Do you have to go to the loo and really go boom? Should I call a doctor?" The monster seemed worried, but it was unmistakably a feint! As soon as Luigi even showed him his vulnerable side, the villain would knock him down from behind with the help of his scrubber, or worse still, lock him in a painting and offer him to his wicked Highness as a present! No, it was now of utmost importance to land the first blow! They might possess the gift of invisibility, but no one could escape a sneaky blow to the face! On the other hand, Plan B would also be possible: Discharge the pressure screaming and break through the decks in one powerful jump. This should really attract the attention of everyone on board.

Luigi had to act. And now! It wasn't without reason that offence was the best defence! So he used his remaining courage to clench his left fist, put on the most brutal face he knew and bellowed as he gained momentum. Then the blow buzzed through the air. Tore up the wind like a jet fighter breaching the sound barrier, targeting the monster's nose. Tried to beat it up so badly, it would run to the king shaking and tell him horror stories about the cruel man in green. The mention of his name should be enough to strike the tyrant with terror! Because he was the _green missile_! The original with ten percent chance to set the Soup Hen on fire!

Then his dog and he would finally be able to live in peace. Unless Bowser visited Peach again, that was. So maybe tomorrow.

* * *

The ghost's eyes were stuck to the flying bomb. Was paralyzed with fear, considered whether the will was written and the inheritance was fairly distributed. That was how Luigi imagined his thoughts and they cheered him on. He could literally smell his horror: namely sweat.

Fate should decide in a few moments! Nothing could save the boo anymore!

A few more centimetres, highest precision maintained, and...

Soft and squeaky, Luigi's fist landed on the crook's elastic skin. Immediately the scrubber slipped and it fell to the ground. A superior smile: He had disarmed his opponent! Another hit and he would leave the cargo hold as a hero!

"No. Just no." His opponent raised his arms and revealed his nerves in a grumbling manner, "The skipper doesn't pay me enough to deal with retarded hobos. I'll go up now and demand more money, otherwise he can do this nonsense alone!" Then he got rid of his equipment, flew up and slipped through the ceiling.

Rigidly, Luigi saw the point at which the ghost had escaped his rage, whereupon he threw himself jubilantly on his back, made a quick backspin and came to a halt in a pose.

"Oh yeah, Luigi number one!"

* * *

Back on the steerage, the plumber was delighted to notice that the seniors were indeed asleep. He had probably successfully kept the war of words in the middle of his own battle from getting into his eardrums. And as peaceful as both lay there, they seemed to have reconciled again or had to admit defeat out of exhaustion. Wasn't that somehow also a way to express one's love? No matter how fiercely one argued, affection always prevailed in the end.

And what did he want to do now? Apart from the cabin, everything had been visited and until they moored in the harbour he had a lot of time to spend. In general, however, he could only say that the voyage on a time-honoured ship was less exciting than he had hoped. The attraction of the new had long since vanished and it resembled a visit to a museum of history: one headed for the areas of one's own interest, examined the exhibits, read the descriptions and went through everything when one was done. Finally, they told their friends that they thought it was quite nice and invited them to a session of Bomberman next.

So what now? Swim in the sea? Cast the anchor? Wake up the old woman and start a conversation with her? Chase the boo off-board for good? Ask Beanelda for a photo? Let's see: Probably not, because she still treated the bow as her personal playground and had meanwhile reached the barrels. Let the skin be caressed by breezes? Sit in front of the rudder post again and observe the mechanism? Thoughtfully, he tilted his head and muttered to himself: Why not? The combination of both sounded like an excellent activity. A blow with his fist on the flat hand sealed his newly found motivation; that was exactly what he would do above!

* * *

At the lowest level, the ghost hunter heard a quarrel, and if he could filter one word out clearly, it was "hobo". Slowly his blood heated up until it boiled and adrenaline found its way into the muscles. If the sheet didn't have enough, he could give him more!

His head filled with just violence, he stepped on the main deck looking for his soon to be destroyed opponent. Instead of the boo, however, he spotted a front of dark clouds on the horizon at twelve o'clock and how the sun spent its last hours of the day. It looked as though Luigi would arrive a little later than originally estimated. That's why he took his mobile phone courageously – a disappointed sigh slipped out: no lines. On the high seas, he certainly had to use a satellite phone to reach someone. Did the captain have an on-board electrical system? It didn't cost anything to ask. Afterwards, he would have a go at the crook.

On his way, the conflict dissolved and the ghost appeared from the aft deck. He held a steaming cup of attractively fruity-sweetly scented tea tightly clasped, as much as he could with his "hand". Shortly they looked each other in the eyes: Luigi burning to end him, the boo, on the other hand, hoisted his eyelids tiredly to half-mast. Then he looked forward and phased through the floor. That's it!

Now the undercover tourist began his fourth ascent. That should have been enough exercising for today.

* * *

He wasn't greeted by a toad with a certain attitude problem, but an orphaned tiller and an engine order telegraph set to full steam. The former jerked slightly as a result of the waves, let itself be guided by them. Were they still on course or had they lost their way in the meantime? Hopefully, they were brought home unharmed and somewhat on time! It would be a little unfavourable if the captain suddenly abandoned the Soup Hen and left the passengers to their fate. Luigi could take over as a helmsman, but for the navigation, he was clearly the last choice.

The cabin door was open, fluttering in the wind without closing. He wanted to find out more about the suspected suitcase, especially to prove to Beanelda that they had nothing to fear. On the other hand, it would seem too obvious if he leaned against the side of the vessel and fixed on the bed. The hem of the peacoat was clearly visible behind it. This required the right time and a pinch of criminal energy. He already had warnings due to speeding, so the latter might come by hook or by crook.

A little later, the hem exchanged its place with a loaded tray, four more cups on it whose scents revealed their contents. The same as the boo had. The same one that made Luigi's throat feel all the dustier. The same that the stay-at-home really, _really_ wanted to have. What was dripping on his collar?

"Here, would you like one too?" the toad asked in an incredibly courteous manner, lifting the pad to the level of his own face and just as politely continuing, "I thought I'd offer you all a little compensation for our rough departure. Because who am I if I don't take care of my people, no?"

* * *

No breath passed, the plumber had already covered himself with the revitalizing elixir and greedily licked his lips. But he didn't get any further than a timid sip, as he flinched back and frantically fancied air as the liquid touched his tongue for the first time. "Of course it's hot, you bright spark," the owner mocked. "Oh, and please ignore the cleaner. Bellyache is his middle name." He cleared his throat. "But say, you certainly didn't come just to say hello, did you?"

Luigi nodded and puffed into his tea, then he said approvingly, "So, first of all, thank you very much for the tea. It should keep me alive until our return." The captain bowed artificially, in which his tray was slightly tilted and the cups lost some reddish drops. "I actually wanted to ask when we turned around. The day is drawing to a close and something is coming up ahead, I'm afraid." For now, he kept the question about the satellite phone to himself. Not that the man got the impression that Luigi was one of those customers who behaved as if they owned the location.

"Yes, I've already seen the thundery front. But don't worry; as soon as I've made my rounds, we'll turn back. By the time this thing arrives, we'll be back in port."

Then Luigi thanked him for the optimistic information and stepped aside afterwards. He listened how the owner, according to the irregular creaking, walked down the steps clumsily. No wonder, as the plumber was now convinced that the carrack hadn't been designed for such a small species. Perhaps for the ancestors of the New Donkers?

But now that the Toad was notably absent... and the door was open...

"Oh, by the way, I'd find it great if you came down again. Thanks for your understanding and all."

Naturally. If a plan went so smoothly that you were practically waiting for a serious problem, the failure was as good as inevitable. Frustrated, he stopped his infiltration attempt and trotted after the captain.

* * *

While the owner moved to the lower levels together with the drinks, Luigi again placed himself cross-legged in front of the block and constantly tried to cool his tea down to bearable temperatures. From time to time he tasted it, felt it with the tip of his tongue: a standard fruit mixture for the small wallet. Since the ban from the local supermarket, in addition, a rarity in the kitchen. But where memory failed was this extremely bitter aftertaste. The desire couldn't stop it, because the neck cried out for more. More! Away with the sea salt! Like a monsoon, the tea should pour over the drought!

Blow again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Until it could be consumed without risk of injury. Through the throat with it!

Many passionate tea drinkers might want to chase him for this outrage with pitchforks. In Luigi's eyes, completely comprehensible; such luxury foods weren't simply bolted down like sugared soft drinks. But the maker has mercy on him, the sun wrung him out, the dryness reigned in the bottle and there was only water, water, water everywhere. Water that removed _more_ liquid from the thirsty in cruel irony. In one go, Luigi flooded his neck without even thinking about taking off. Loved every moment, felt life sprout. Prayed, it never stopped.

Then it stopped.

Sadly he looked at the bottom of the cup and witnessed a pitiful remnant that ended in fractions of a second as a red leftover. But what if he begged the captain on his knees for a second filling?

* * *

After the way too short storm tide, however, the bitterness returned all the more intense and deformed Luigi's face to a disgusted grimace. He spat, retched and stroked his tongue, hoping to remove the hideous taste somehow. That's what he got for not giving tea the respect it deserved!

But what flavour of tea was it? First enchanting the palate with fruit, just to spoil it? That made no sense. Why else would it taste of the dentist's narcotics? There were connoisseurs in the world who liked it, he didn't deny that. Instead of the owner, however, he definitely wouldn't have provided his guests with "exotic" varieties. Certainly an oversight or an obscure family recipe, similar to E. Gadd's pickled dandelions with barnacles in a diesel marinade. How Luigi had survived the dinner and whether the professor would be less, well, eccentric without this creation, or if he ate them in the first place _because_ he was, was a question he asked himself to this day.

No matter how, no matter what, now was the time to hold out. The wardrobe had to be painted and Jeremiah needed a new collar. Red was ugly, pink it had to be! Why did a ship need two rudders and why did they go further and further apart? They had nice planks here. He liked green.

* * *

The plumber energetically shook his head and rubbed his eyes yawning. Was he ready for bed now? As far as he knew, he had got up well-rested in the morning and had had a cup of coffee for breakfast. He needed a new washing machine in green. Afterwards, he should ask for caffeine instead of tea. His mind struggled hard against the heavy eyelids and after they had closed several times, he took a hand to help, holding them open at first. Apart from burning pain, however, it was of no use and to all abundance, Luigi lost his balance. Almost unbraked, he fell on his back and hit the hard wood with his vertebrae. A paralyzing shock ran through his body and he whined - that however granted him a small, valuable moment of clarity in which any tiredness and abstruse inspirations were swept away...

Something was wrong. On some days Mario's brother was so tired that he could hardly think straight, but this definitely didn't go hand in hand with a loss of motor skills. At least not so suddenly. He only knew this from the general anaesthesia, also at the dentist when he had his wisdom teeth extracted. Pretty expensive business.

Anaesthetics would at least explain the bitter taste. So if he had unwittingly taken medication, then...

No.

No!

* * *

He mustn't fall asleep! Even his heart and lungs became aware of the implications and worked at full speed beyond their performance limits. Everything to stop the active substance, while Luigi was working his muscles to put him upright. It would already be a start if he could sit down again.

To his horror, however, the strength in his arms dwindled, so that they soon slackened and he lay back. Each one followed by the other organs, each of which switched into rest mode.

But he still had a bit of stamina left before the eyelids finally battened down the hatches...

"DON'T DRINK!"

"Hey bro! Did I ever tell you that the prime number of four is pi?"


	3. Chapter 3

"...at night, low 'Edward' hits the coasts with a storm front moving in from the south—"

Yawning longly, Mario pressed the button on the remote and the screen went blank after one last flicker. Then he rubbed his face, massaged his eyes and glanced nervously at the wall clock: three minutes past ten and still no sign of his brother. At the same time, he played with his fingers and pushed himself deeper into the armchair while his head was running through various scenarios: Did Luigi merely get lost and neglected to charge his mobile phone? Did he even get mugged on his way home and lay injured, forgotten by everyone except his family, in an alley? Or did the ship capsize and Luigi fought for his life in the blue wasteland? Mario knew him as an excellent swimmer, so he didn‘t believe in premature death by drowning. But the fear that Luigi would fall victim to a predator or freeze to death didn‘t want to let go of him. Today belonged to the summer. Tomorrow, however, autumn had announced itself. If his little brother should indeed float in the cold water...

Shaking his head, he tried to strip away the gloomy implications. Luigi was fine! He had already been through worse. Someone like him, who had already freed the hero of the Mushroom Kingdom three times from the clutches of this ghost king, wouldn‘t surrender to the depths just like that! He would rather let himself be cuddled to death by Jeremiah! Speaking of Jeremiah.

* * *

Since the thoroughly failed act with the postman, the pale silvery light behind the portal to the entrance area had only stirred sporadically at best. The red dog bowl lay well-stocked next to it, as Luigi had instructed. As it looked, however, Jeremiah hadn‘t even touched the food. Did ghosts actually possess organs? His brother insisted that the dog would jump at this food like a shipwrecked man at a lifebelt. And there it was. Untouched.

The man in red, grief-stricken, buried his face in his hands. What could he do with Luigi‘s friend, his "Best Boy" as it was engraved on the bowl? He wasn‘t ill either, otherwise he would have noticed the greenish colouring long ago. Again, everything depended on his master - just like Peach would still be trapped in the painting without him. Mario was the first on the roof, but despaired when he realised that he wasn‘t capable of rescue. That powerlessness, being able to do absolutely nothing, nothing at all... after he was used to being able to overcome every enemy, every challenge during his adventures, no matter how hopeless the situation might seem.

* * *

He leaned to the left and stretched his neck. As was to be expected, Jeremiah rested curled up on the dirty doormat, his eyes closed. Mario had already thought about washing the mat, but didn‘t want to shoo the little one away against his will. Above all, he didn‘t want to wake him from his sleep. At a fleeting glance it even seemed peaceful; just like every dog went to its place after a long day. Whether in his basket, next to or on the bed to enjoy the closeness and warmth of his human, wherever he felt most comfortable at the moment. Jeremiah‘s mouth, however, pulled backwards, was slightly bent down at the flews, and his leg twitched. It was only a matter of time before he jumped up.

Was there really nothing he could do for him? At least cheer him up a little? Maybe by showing him that he did everything in his power to give Luigi the necessary support? But who else was offering help for potential disasters at this time of day? If someone was involved in an accident on the street, one always called for an ambulance. Was there anyone who had the sea in their jurisdiction?

Just as the scales fell from his eyes, he pulled his cap down in embarrassment. He could have hit himself: Why hadn‘t he thought of that before? The mere thought of not having helped the Ghostbuster earlier tore at his conscience and made his hands tremble. The plumber had to hurry!

* * *

Without further ado, he reached for his phone. It was of slim, wafer-thin stature and also equipped with an internet connection and a camera. Practicality in everyday life combined in a small package for a huge amount of money. Although the constant availability got on his nerves, he felt compelled as an eternal hero to accept this as a necessary evil. Sometimes he couldn‘t help but envy Luigi for his phone, which was reduced to the bare minimum. Living in seclusion also offered its own advantages.

First of all, Mario called up "Woogle". He was presented with a bright yellow - he preferred to call it "eye cancer yellow" - search engine, whose name was underlined by Wario‘s distinctive nose and jagged beard. Why his IT specialists apparently had to randomly add cloves of garlic to it seemingly remained his personal secret. All competing programs had already been taken over by his company and had been given exactly the same design.

Despite this, Bowser‘s archenemy typed "coastguard toad town", into the array and sent his inquiry with a crossed thumb. To his knowledge, the town owned one, but according to the newspapers, it was chronically underfunded and insufficiently equipped for operations at sea. Nevertheless, it was his best option at the time. The main thing was that they started searching without delay!

* * *

Their number was quickly found. He immediately touched it on the screen and was then asked by a dialogue box, "Call number?"

Mario‘s index finger dutifully snapped to the confirming button; shortly before contact, however, he faltered. If the rescuers asked the necessary questions, and they would, what answers would, _could_ he give them? Except that Luigi didn‘t return from his trip and his disappearance was only an indication of an accident, he was unable to give them any concrete information. The oceans around the Mushroom Kingdom were vast - with no approximate location, the rescue operation resembled a search for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

A faint glow of desperate hope ignited in Mario, and he dialled his brother‘s number instead. Perhaps he really had just arrived late. Perhaps he had accidentally switched off his phone. Perhaps it was all a bad dream. Something, something he could cling to, that could nurture the glow. Connecting, please hold...

He waited, staring at the three dots without blinking. First one, then two, then three, and again from the beginning. It beeped, but Jeremiah didn‘t seem to mind.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up…!" he muttered like a mantra. "Pick up, pick up—"

"Hello!" At that moment, the plumber‘s breath gave out. Was that Luigi or the answering machine?

"This is Luigi Mario‘s mailbox! Unfortunately, I‘m not available right now, but feel free to leave a message after the be…" A distorted barking suddenly hissed through the loudspeaker and Mario‘s head dashed away under a painful groan. "Uh, beep. I‘ll call you back as fast as I can. Have a nice day and see you soon!"

* * *

He sat there in silence, looking down at the ground, letting the time window for a message pass by. The audio recorder promised many things - both good and bad. And so it fuelled his previous theses about Luigi‘s whereabouts. For example that he was beaten unconscious and relieved of his telephone, which could now be anywhere. He looked up with a wrinkled forehead. Really anywhere? Didn‘t the sea stand out due to being one big dead zone? Something told him that he couldn‘t have reached the device if it had been on a ship. Thoughtfully he closed his eyelids. Could it be that the couch potato had never boarded one? Or had he long since returned and partied in the tavern until late at night? The kingdom‘s hero shook his head in indignation at this absurd idea. Luigi was responsible enough to limit the consumption of alcohol to special occasions and even then, he drank very little. The day he would find his brother lying in a corner, drunk as a skunk, would hopefully only exist in his nightmares. So where else could the man in green be?

But as soon as his thoughts spit out more possibilities, he surrendered and quickly typed in the number of the local police station. Perhaps they could give him further advice.

* * *

His mobile phone flew up when a heart-rending howl sounded from the entrance area and Mario almost fell off his chair while hastily catching it.

"Jeremiah!" he shouted in horror, put the device on the seat, jumped up and ran next door. "Are you okay?!" The transparent creature sat upright, shaking, turning its round head around as if driven and panting heavily - until its half-open eyes stopped at Mario. It wasn‘t that the latter couldn‘t stand him, quite the contrary; but Jeremiah‘s empty gaze always made him feel uneasy. Probably because the plumber could never say who or what he was looking at. In this respect, it was somewhat unfortunate that the dog had lost his pupils. Mario still remembered how a terrified Luigi had called him in the morning two days after the escapades in Evershade Valley and begged him in to come - Jeremiah‘s eyes were blank and the young man feared he would cause some mischief and steal keys again. What Mario had discovered after a wild ride through the city with a few ran red lights however was a ghost relaxing on the armrest next to his wrily smiling owner, watching cartoons with him. It was reassuring to learn that the Dark Moon wasn‘t absolutely necessary. Although, this presented the professor with new mysteries.

* * *

Immediately Jeremiah showed him his typical wide grin with his tongue sticking out and wagged his tail. After that, he cantered excitedly whimpering towards him and before Mario knew it, the Polterpup‘s paws rested on his shoulders and he instantly felt his warm, wet tongue on his cheeks. Overwhelmed by this storm of joy, he stood motionless, enduring Jeremiah‘s strange affection with a deep humming sound. Left, right, over the nose, again left and right, because why not, and anyway: Why so cheerful? He wasn‘t Luigi! Apart from that, he didn‘t like to be jumped on and being licked just like that. With his brother, Jeremiah could do as he liked, but Mario preferred a healthy distance.

That‘s why he tried to gently push the dog away from him - easier said than done, because the ghost simply pulled him back and furthermore, he was much taller than him when standing on his hind legs, so the hero had to look _up_. Even Luigi was outgrown by the Polterpup already: a remarkable achievement for such a young animal. He neither wanted to test Jeremiah‘s strength nor be knocked down by him. Therefore, words had to do it.

"Jeremiah, enough." The house ghost, definitely too devoted for his taste, paused for a moment but then continued to rub his face against Mario‘s own, exhaling loudly. Now he became louder, "Stop it! Enough, I said!" As if struck by glaring light, Jeremiah froze and stared at him perplexed from the corners. His eyes were still slightly open: could it be that he was still half asleep? The plumber immediately followed suit and calmly said to him, "I‘m sorry, but..." Quickly using the break he shoved him back by the chest and let him down carefully. "I‘m not your beloved Luigi."

* * *

At first, the dog stared at him whimpering confusedly. Then he shook himself and tore his eyelids open as far as they went. He blinked twice, then it dawned on him. Saddened, he lowered his head and turned his back to a mopey Mario, whereupon he calmly walked to the doormat, curled up and watched Peach‘s lifelong rescuer tiredly. Mario looked back, wanting to express his solidarity, but turned around when remorse flogged his conscience, wishing Jeremiah wouldn‘t look at him. So he wiped his face with one arm and leaned against the portal with the other. Should he say something to him? But what? Jeremiah himself must have come to the conclusion in the meantime that his master must have been the victim of an accident or crime, which is why the usual appeals to stand firm would have only caused stress.

So he quietly went back to the armchair. Time for the cavalry.

Quickly seated, he dialled the emergency call and waited again.

"Toad Town Police Department, Jus T., good evening?" The first step had been taken, Mario had reached someone! Though the official sounded, according to the monotonous tone of his voice, unenthusiastic about having to work so late. But as a friend and helper, it was part of his virtuous duty, for better or worse, to ensure that he was always on standby.

Then the older brother blurted it straightly out, "Hello, my name is Mario and—"

"You are WHO?!" the policeman immediately interrupted him, strangely delighted, almost as if it were a different officer. Before answering, Mario covered his eyes with the flat of his hand. It was another one of those days.

"Yes, Mario. Listen, I—"

"One moment, please!" His conversation partner paused and Mario listened. First, his ears heard the squeaking wheels of a chair and then again the words of the policeman, this time turned away from the receiver. "Yeah boy, I‘ve got Mario on the line!" Another voice intervened, but it was too unclear to be understood. "Yes, _the_ Mario! Peach‘s lover with the legendary jump and all!" Gradually and slightly deterred, the plumber considered hanging up without further ado. If he ever had to show someone else how working on a professional level didn‘t look like, Jus T. would have been his man. It‘s bad enough that he was already described as "Peach‘s lover", even though he hadn‘t advanced that far with her yet. She surely would have flipped furiously at this claim. But one lucky day...

"So what can one do for the great hero?" Jus T. friendly tried to establish a basis for any further help, whereby he chortled femininely here and there. He‘d better not write any of those dirty stories about the man in red and the princess!

* * *

"Well, I miss my brother. He wanted to go out to sea with a ship at noon today and come back in the evening. Unfortunately, he is still not here and he is not answering his phone. So I‘m afraid something must have happened to him."

Silence. Surprised, Mario checked if his phone had run out of battery in the middle of the talk: Fifty per cent and the connection was still strong. Did he say something wrong?

"You have a brother?" Growling furiously, Mario let his head fall onto the backrest. At this rate, they would never find Luigi alive!

"Now isn‘t the time for stale jokes!" he ranted, "Can you help me or not?!"

"Uh, uh, s-sure! Sure, um, well..." It rustled unpleasantly loudly until it suddenly stopped. "All right, you want to file a missing person‘s report?" Soothed, he nodded.

"Thank you. So it‘s about Luigi Mario. The legendary stay-at-home, green guy, you know." He didn’t want to push his luck, so he included a few nicknames heard over the course of his life said by other people.

"Yes..." Once again, the official maintained his silence and let out at most a faint murmur. "Yes, I think it rings a bell. The fella with the vacuum cleaner, right?" For safety‘s sake, Mario felt compelled to make one thing clear, "If you‘ve got a gentleman dressed in green with a marvellous moustache in your head instead of an old professor, then you‘re right."

"Uh, no?" A pillow to scream on, please! Mario thought he‘d seen a lot of things, but that someone did just manage to confuse the inventor with his brother was news to him. Maybe he should let Luigi take the lead in adventures for once, so that his popularity and fame increased.

* * *

"Ugh, last try: take me, colour the cap and shirt green, swap the M on the cap for an L, make me a little thinner and taller and you have Luigi. Just remember that I borrowed him my tropical shirt and sunglasses and that he has a great moustache." Eagerly, the policeman‘s pen scratched across the paper, accompanied by an inharmonic humming that seemed to signal confirmation. He then added, "Besides, he‘s not answering the phone except the machine, so I think he might still be at the port."

"You‘d better leave that to our boys and girls," Jus T. decisively put a stop to further speculation, "There are so many factors to consider that these assumptions have little meaning." From then on, the hero made no sound at all. Despite the casual manner of the official, it seemed to him as if the lawman knew what he was talking about and what he was doing. Perhaps he belonged to those who had clear quirks, but at the same time were incredibly skilled in their work?

"All right, it‘s noted," Jus T. informed shortly afterwards, and thus conjured a relieved smile on Mario‘s face. "If he hasn‘t shown up by the middle of next week, please call again, then—"

"Are you serious?!" Mario‘s sudden outcry left the officer speechless and, in passing, called Jeremiah to the scene, who nervously stuck his head out from behind the portal.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jus T. regained his composure and calmly explained, "Well, of course. Currently, there is no concrete suspicion that Luigi has been the victim of a crime or accident. He might as well be strolling around the city, visiting friends or celebrating."

"He could also be fighting for his life at sea!" Mario threw furiously at him, hoping his interlocutor would take the matter more seriously.

"Correct. Emphasis on ‘ _could_.’ Just like a lot of other, far less dangerous things right now. But if it makes you feel any better, most missing person‘s reports are settled within a week. So it‘s possible that your brother will still arrive, even if it‘s after midnight." Peach‘s friend didn‘t give up that easily.

"But he went by boat!"

"And which one? Do you also want to call in the coastguard and have them search for a boat that may have been anchored hours ago, is on its way to another port or is simply late? I‘m sure it would have radioed in if it was in trouble."

"But I _know_ he‘s in danger!" Once again there was radio silence on the other side. What was wrong with the man‘s constant withdrawal? Didn‘t he understand that any delay would jeopardize a timely rescue? Moreover, would he please stop sighing? Now even the ghost dog had dared to approach the armchair, sat down at Mario‘s feet and watched the goings-on attentively. The hero was already dreading having to tell him that the police weren‘t going to search for Luigi at all.

* * *

"Mr Mario. Please allow me to be frank with you."

"But..." Mario contradicted reflexively, but at that moment his throat was blocked. He‘d talked faster than his brain could come up with a phrase, and as he realized disgruntled, he ran out of everything he had. Since he also got the feeling that he banged his head repeatedly against a massive steel wall, Mario gave him their head huffily. He had obviously misjudged his professionalism, just as the policeman didn‘t respond to his objection and continued soberly, "Thank you. So, just for your understanding: Every day dozens of missing person‘s reports come in, some more urgent than the others, for example when children are involved. Of course, everyone demands that we start the search immediately, preferably yesterday. But we are understaffed and therefore have to decide according to priority. And as far as I can tell, your brother is at the bottom of the list. Your prominent status won‘t change that." Deliberately ignoring that last remark, Mario then tried a different approach and asked, "Well, but what about the coastguard?

"What about them? Unless you know which ship Luigi is travelling on, they will tell you exactly the same thing. They have better things to do than searching the sea for a vehicle." The telephone lay restlessly in his hand while the plumber, breathing faster and faster, struggled to find words thanks to his powerlessness. If neither the police nor the coastguard could help - who else? "Look, I understand your concern. But I can‘t recommend anything more than waiting."

* * *

Waiting. Waiting! Mario refrained from laughing just in time. How long had they both been waiting without any sign of life from the ghost hunter? And now wait even more? He felt like he was in the wrong movie! In a moment, anger and despair knocked reason off the wheel and took over the helm.

"What am I paying taxes for, if you paisanos are just sitting around on your butts and—"

"Then I assume that your matter has been resolved," Jus T. simply spoke unaffectedly in between, "Therefore, I wish you a pleasant evening according to the circumstances and would like to remind you to call again if your brother doesn‘t appear by the middle of next week. Bye!"

"No, please don‘t hang—" A short ringing and except for the crackling of the fire in the fireplace, the howling of the wind outside and the incoming and outgoing air, peace returned to the living room. Away with the fury, reunited with the helplessness.

So he sat there motionless at first, staring blankly into the void, while his hand sank slowly to the seat. Had the Polterpup observed him with his big eyes before, he whined quietly in view of Mario‘s face and hanged his head in depression.

"I‘m sorry, Jeremiah." He looked up in surprise, right into the hero‘s contrite face. "Please forgive me that I couldn‘t do anything to help your Luigi. If we at least knew which ship he‘s on, then the coastguard could look for him." Then a smile appeared on his mouth, trembling for shape and Mario grinned. In the interim, Jeremiah looked on the ground and rhythmically tapped the carpet with his tail. "When you think about it, it‘s actually quite funny. I was able to save Peach, Daisy, Pauline, even the whole universe during my adventures. But my own brother? No."

* * *

More drifting than intended, Mario looked through the big window to the front garden. Normally, the moon would have to give its light, but instead, the world outside was bathed in a dense blackness. As far as he was concerned, the boundaries of reality didn‘t go beyond the front door. Apart from the two small islands at the gate, thanks to the lanterns. All he had left was Luigi‘s house, his pet and the inhabitants of other realities he could reach by his telephone. Maybe he should order pizza to meet someone else in flesh and blood? Was there a delivery at this time of day? How should they find the stay-at-home in this darkness?

Suddenly an aggressive barking echoed off the walls. The volume was only exceeded by Mario‘s own scream and the squeaking of the armchair when he landed back on the upholstery.

"Jeremiah, what… hm?" This time the dog stood on all fours, his tail set vertically upwards. What fascinated the plumber, on the other hand, was the firm, yes, determined look of the animal. He would have to lie if he didn‘t recognize himself in it: That‘s exactly how he had always confronted Bowser in the decisive battle of his latest mad idea. Had non-verbally told him not to run away but to fight and taste defeat like a man. Had given him an ultimatum to either hand over his hostage or feel his wrath. Or, as Jeremiah probably put it in this situation, "Mario, how can you just sit around and cry while Luigi is in danger out there and needs our help? So get up and live up to your reputation as a hero!"

* * *

For a few conscious breaths, Mario let him look deep into his eyes and was inspired by his courage. Then he smiled and his face imitated the ghost‘s features. "You‘re right," he admitted and stood up. "It‘s no use to just whine and hope he‘ll return." The man in red tugged at his moustache and thought. "Let‘s-a go to the harbour. Surely we‘ll find Luigi quicker if we investigate on our own, instead of letting the mills of justice grind." After these words and an affirmative woof, the dog trotted to the door with Mario in tow and demonstratively pressed his paws against it. The plumber immediately stretched out his open hand to the handle - and pulled it back up under Jeremiah‘s baffled whimper. He had forgotten one very important thing.

"Go to the car, I just have to take some security measures." Fleetingly, the Polterpup peered into the living room, then eyed Mario slightly smiling and finally jumped through the door, barking cheerfully. A white cloud that vanished at a rapid pace was all that ever testified to Jeremiah‘s presence.

Now he could devote himself entirely to his plan.

For the time being, he went back into the living room and switched on the second standard lamp next to the fireplace. Then he drew the curtains and turned the TV on, just in time to catch a chaotically cut trailer with pompous orchestral music for the latest pirate adventure. However, the scene of the fish-like giant was enough for him to shake his head and wave it away. This is definitely the usual fantasy nonsense, where he always felt people were watching it just because of the effects, not for the plot and characters. Well, to each their own.

* * *

Lastly, the ceiling lamp in the entrance area. If someone wanted to break in, all ways led inevitably through here. As unlikely as such an occurrence was - a small house far from the shot at the edge of a mighty forest and Luigi didn‘t own much anyway - he didn‘t want to take chances. Better to be on the safe side. He already made a mental note to pay for the costs of the additional electricity consumption.

He ignored all the other rooms: the kitchen contained no valuables whatsoever, the hatch to the cellar at the back of the house was firmly locked and going straight up to the top floor would have attracted too much-unwanted attention. Only Luigi‘s car could still provide protection; his brother, however, had insisted on driving to town himself instead of being brought by him. The towing services, including the parking attendants, must have had the easiest catch today.

Finally, he removed the house key from the hole and put it in his pocket. Once again making sure that he hadn‘t left anything out, he stepped out of the building, locking behind him.

* * *

A chilly wind embraced him as soon as he left the protective walls. He regretted leaving his jacket at home, as it found its way through his clothes to the bare skin underneath. As if that wasn‘t enough, a brown leaf flew against his cheek. During the day there was no sign of the approaching autumn, then at the latest after sunset. Even the moon had to struggle with the clouds that had recently come up. At most, it was only visible as a faintly shimmering disc in the sky.

The lighting from the living room and the two lanterns on the fence posts were enough for Mario to walk the paved and curved path without an accident. His brother wasn‘t exactly happy to see his lawn disfigured by shoeprints and trampled plants, so the hero took great care not to stray an inch.

Next to the mailbox, his vehicle was waiting for him, the cockpit already lit by Jeremiah‘s silver body. A sleek sports car including a small back seat, painted all in red and with enough ground clearance not to lose the bumpers when facing a dirt road. Already the dog stuck his head through the side window and instructed the hero by means of impatient barking to hurry up.

"I‘ll be right there, hold on!" He made the last few metres in a run, almost tripped and then opened his car by remote control key. Immediately, the vehicle turned into a lighthouse in the middle of this dark sea, flashing twice and its headlights chasing away the darkness. Jeremiah, however, curiously turned to the lights - apparently, he didn‘t know this function from Luigi‘s own one.

Soon Mario was seated in the driver‘s seat, the Polterpup calmly to his left and his eyes turned to the road, mimicking a good co-driver.

* * *

"Well, here we go," mumbled the plumber and turned the key. The interior trembled, the engine stirred grimly from sleep and after a short roar, it begged for the next ride peacefully bubbling.

"Hang on, Luigi! We are coming!" Jeremiah growled deeply and persistently. He might look harmless, partly because he had no teeth and enjoyed nothing more than playing with Luigi and receiving his affection. Mario though had no doubt that he too would turn into a wild beast if anyone threatened him or his master. Together, nobody should mess with them!

Mario carefully pressed the right pedal. Slowly the needle of the rev counter worked its way up the digits and the bodywork rolled forward sluggishly, after which the hero increased the pressure steadily until they reached a comfortable cruising speed - approximately twenty kilometres per hour, the fastest he felt he could go without having to worry about the chassis falling apart due to the rough terrain.

Then they disappeared into the heart of the forest on the only way through the trees.


	4. Chapter 4

"No, brother, every child knows that the prime number of pi is a root, no matter how many times you try to explain it to me!"

Furious, Mario stood on the bow of his rowing boat and presented him a calculator, on which he immediately started typing wildly while calling out random numbers and symbols. But he failed to reckon with Luigi's abacus, because that would undoubtedly refute his theory! At least that was his plan, if Mario, his boat and the bathtub in which his younger brother was sitting, including the sea around it, didn't suddenly disappear into thin air. And he was so close to proving it to him once and for all! Instead of the blue sky, a darkness pushed itself into the foreground, as if the whole thing had been nothing more than a stage set of questionable quality that lost its colour in the middle of the play. What remained was a black canvas, ready for the next performance.

At the same time, his posture shifted from sitting to lying down, and the ground changed from plastic to wood, which immediately put his head and back in a bad mood: an intense, dull pain seemed to have settled down from above to his buttocks and made it impossible for Luigi to produce a grammatically correct sentence, let alone a clear articulation or a comprehensible word. At present, his vocabulary consisted solely of saddled moans that only grew louder as he slowly rolled over on his belly, moving his stiffened bones in the process. Couldn't he have fallen asleep sitting up? He almost longed to be smacked by a carpet-beater!

* * *

It must have been hours. Had it been broad daylight earlier, his eyes, before his nose touched the planks, were strained with a dense blackness now. Had he been moved inside? Impossible, for he felt a faint breeze on his exposed arms. His pupils, as soon as enlarged, revealed the indistinct contours of his surroundings and allowed him to orientate himself rudimentarily, as long as he didn't move too fast.

Then he stretched his arms forward and placed the open palms of his hands on the wood. He didn't yet stand up, but paused groaning, allowing the suffering tissue to recover. Once again, the pain drove away the tiredness and spurred him on to grasp the current situation: What kind of mess had he gotten himself into again? First the fake holiday in a haunted luxury hotel and now a week later stranded at sea!

He let the meaning of this sink in. What it meant to be trapped in complete isolation, with no way out, no help, no friends, no access to supplies.

"Nooooo!" shrieked Luigi with both hands on his cheeks, out into the big wide world - Jeremiah and Mario would get sick with worry! Worse still, he would starve and die of thirst, the latter first, or drown and freeze to death if the ship sank due to capricious weather, accidents or monsters! He didn't want to kill and eat the other passengers, or be eaten himself! Not take the path of piracy, only to be hanged in the end! Was an undertaking which, for once, was not accompanied by kidnapping or other dangers, too much to ask? Why couldn't he instead deliver goods on Wario's behalf, say, across the country? At most, he had to deal with time pressure and stupid customers. Crying now, one of the skills he was extremely talented in, didn't seem wrong with the prospects at all. Though as long as he hadn't run out of options, he saved the tears for later. But if he wanted to prevent the fates he had envisioned, he had to hurry. Had the other passengers possibly woken up in the meantime?

* * *

"Hello?" he shouted through the gaps in his set of teeth. "Can anyone hear me?" In response, the surroundings brightened in a flash of white and sank into darkness as quickly as the light had come. Three seconds later it thundered from a distance: The front must have reached them already. Fortunately without rain or stormy winds, but for how long? In the beginning, Luigi thanked the sky for its discharges and their additional brightness. Later, however, one of his primary goals would be to sail into calmer waters before the weather endangered the Soup hen.

He repeated his shouting after the crashing stopped - like the ringing of a lonely ship's bell, his words spread out over deck and ledges, where they were quickly swallowed by the sound of the waves. So either he was indeed the only one awake so far, not bound and gagged, or he had been left behind for whatever reason. Should the latter be the case, he would have to bring the barge to Toad Town on his own. No one could tell him what to do, where to go, and certainly not save him from a dangerous situation. It's high time to get his grey matter into gear!

With the installed automatisms for the sails, he should be able to steer the wooden ship alone if the need arose, but what was one without an iron crew? So first of all, he set his course to find the remaining men and women. It was more advantageous anyway than immediately panicking and shouting that one's own game would end lonely and unworthy.

* * *

Above all, however, was the need for a lamp, so he didn't suffer an abrupt break of his neck while descending the steps. Therefore, he rummaged in his trouser pockets like a lovesick Truffle Oink for his mobile phone. But all his fingers could get hold of were sturdy cotton fabric and warm, jingling metals. Quietly, he then hummed a melody that would keep the stress during the first ghost hunt to a safe level and dug deeper. After all, the device could have hidden in the folds. Searching again; this time without a key, they merely distracted him and had also laughed triumphantly as Luigi grabbed an elongated object - which on closer inspection, revealed itself to be his house key, which turned his joy into frustration. He rewound his head back to the bus stop: had he lost his mobile phone on the way? Climbing up? Or even by the sneaky captain?

It hit him like a punch in the pit of his stomach.

Screeching, he jumped onto his legs with cracking bones and a sudden, glaring pain in his spine bent his upper body backwards. He had frozen to a grotesque statue of an imaginative artist who attributed dramatic meanings to his works in contrast to their appearance, and let a tear flow, moaning. Why, of all people, did he have to be one of those who couldn't sleep on his stomach?

Just the clouds discharged themselves anew, giving him a perfect view. So he saw the sails, tiredly hanging from the masts, moved by the occasional breeze. Since he was paralyzed for the moment anyway, for fear of making his suffering worse, he silently sent two prayers of thanks to the heavens. First, that they hadn't crashed and sunk somewhere or were attacked in the meantime, probably with the same end result. Following that, the Soup hen possessed an engine. Unless the tank was empty.

* * *

In small steps, he began to lead his hands to his back pockets, where he always kept his wallet. He should normally have felt their absence or presence, but the uncomfortable floor had stunned his seat for an indefinite period of time. Nevertheless, a short wipe was enough to clean them; they were smooth and hardly palpable. He had bought these bibless trousers with extra pockets, especially for the summer, so that on hot days, he could wear lighter clothes without being noticed as a walking fashionable sin with the usual work jeans. Fortunately, only recently, as not too much cash had remained in his wallet. But the rest of its contents, bank card, personal data, registration document and other rubbish like receipts from petrol stations?

To calm himself down, he took wilful breaths and raised his shoulders with a smile. What was the captain going to do with this stuff? Nail it to the wall and brag to his buddies about what a big haul he had made? And even if he gained access to his bank account, the former would return the card out of pity and put 50 coins in his hand, as no one was allowed to be subjected to the depressing void. The loss of connection to the outside world was the far greater problem than plastic cards. Besides, with the "theft", the payment for the trip was settled. On the other hand, he could easily do without the red tape of new applications.

* * *

"Luigi, is that you?" it suddenly echoed from the hatch to the lower decks.

His heart skipped a beat. He was no longer alone! At last he saw light at the end of the tunnel; he wouldn't die in complete solitude if the ship was swallowed by the waves with sad creaking. Excited, he gave away his location aloud, "Here, up here! On the main deck by the rudder!" The answer followed swiftly, "Alright, I'm coming! And don't be frightened, I've got a lantern with me!" With this, the ghostbuster had come a big step closer to the end of the horror. But the longer the voice circulated through his hearing, the more suspicious he became: It belonged to a man and as he remembered, the grumpy goomba was the only male being on board he had revealed his name to. Besides, he found it a bit strange to see him as _friendly_ , almost _worried_ , and not as an armless howler monkey with likely made-up anecdotes from the barracks. Apart from him and himself as a member of the same gender, the boo was on board. And his back problem offered an ideal weak spot. The fishbowl was an amazingly hot place, as his forehead attested.

"N-no, no! Stay where you are!" Luigi decided differently, trembling.

"Wait, what? Why?" The plumber saved himself an answer. He then prepared himself physically and mentally to restore his mobility as quickly as possible: Grit his teeth, then press his hands against his hips and finally think of a slurring Mario with a ruff in the shape of an air shaft. Unfortunately for him, however, the picture couldn't make him smile, as he had hoped to double up with laughter, so it was all about willpower and pain tolerance.

So he tensed his muscles, panted twice and counted in his mind: One, two...

* * *

"Ah, there you are!" Reflexively, Luigi's body took on the consistency of a statue. Everything but _him_ . "Wait a minute, why are you standing bent up like you've been stabbed in the back? Or is this a new form of gymnastics? If so, I'd be very interested to know who your coach is. Because it doesn't look good for your health if you ask me, but what do I know? I don't even have bones." Neither did the couch-potato see the wraith's own glow, nor his lantern and he didn't want to strain his backbone by turning around. But he felt his intentions, the malice in his neck, a mighty aura that caused spontaneous goosebumps like a life-sized electric razor. Already the scoundrel sensed his promotion to the right hand of his majesty, had possibly even prepared an empty painting frame. Luigi feverishly explored his ways to escape: As if he was sitting in a rowing boat, threatened by a voracious shark, and he had various objects onboard to choose from, each of which seemed to promise rescue. But time worked against him, allowing only one decision to be made before the inevitable attack took place. Run away? Where? He couldn't hide from a boo! "Maybe your back is just stiff like an old bap from lying there? Good thing I didn't listen to you." Maybe in the water? Open a barrel, empty it out and then float away with it? Wait, how would he stay alive in there? "Hmm, looks like that to me. But don't worry, we can fix that with a little nudge." Play dead! Luigi's genius was radiant. That was _the_ idea! What would the king want with a model who, well, was too busy rotting away to give him his favourite, fear-filled motives? Yes, as soon as his lackey lost interest and turned his attention to other things, the survivor of haunted localities would strike down the villain by surprise!

"This is going to hurt a bit though."

* * *

Instinctively, Luigi fumbled hastily in his trouser pockets for the next best item he could use as a weapon, pulled it out violently and held the pointed end over his shoulder, followed by a stammered warning, "Not one step further! I swear I'll stab you if you come near me!" Only then he did notice that a boo couldn't walk any steps and was already in the process of reformulating the first part in his mind accordingly. Just in case the opponent wanted to take advantage of this loophole. But it wasn't supposed to get that far.

"Really?", the person behind him replied dumbfounded. "I want to help you and you want to gut me with a rusty car key?" He adjourned as if to give Luigi time to reflect on his actions.

"Uh, I meant float, so...", Luigi continued to talk insecurely instead, but brought his vocal cords to a standstill when the strange words penetrated his lost thoughts and forced him to deal with them. Rusty car key? Gutting? What? Did he think he was a maniac with no regard for his car? What disgraceful insinuations, how he indignantly threw it back at his non-existent ears, "You will take that back, as firstly the key was already like that when I bought my car and secondly I only want to give you harmless scratches..."

"It's because I'm a boo, isn't it?"

"...to think I'm a lunatic because I'm..." His angry tirade suddenly and immediately lost all the wind in its sails when he heard, and the pitiful remnant of it yielded but one word, "What?"

"Don't worry, I understand. If I were you, I'd probably be pretty mad too. But if we want to get out of this alive, I can only advise you to bury the hatchet for the moment, because we have far more pressing problems right now."

* * *

Despite the reasonable view of the cleaner, which Luigi gladly agreed with, especially due to the current situation, part of his being resisted a truce and urged a preventive strike. The wounds of earlier encounters were too deep, had crusted to festering cuts over the years, had been torn open by the ghost since their encounter in the hold. Now, simply sticking a band-aid on them and tersely fobbing off his qualms with "Let's love each other again", salt was sprinkled into the openings at best.

"I'll be damned if I will!" the plumber replied aggressively, strengthening the grip around the key. "To this day, every boo has tried to kill my brother and me and now one of them suddenly wants to make a common cause? Do you actually think I'm completely stupid? Certainly, you're one of King Boo's bootlickers, trying to lure me into a trap!"

"Me? King Boo's bootlicker?" the wraith repeated stoically and then replied, "It may sound unbelievable, but I can assure you that I never had anything to do with that pillock." As smoothly as the ghost made his statement, it was obvious that Luigi was by no means the first to suspect him of being some kind of agent. Often enough to be able to rewind every word, woven into a meaningful sentence including pauses in speech, like a sound recorder.

However, Mario's brother wasn't entirely convinced and grilled him sceptically, "For not wanting to have anything to do with him, you seem to be well informed. So well informed that you even know my name, although I never introduced myself."

"Do you think I have no friends, or at least good acquaintances? One or two..." He broke off in the middle of it, sighed and started again, "Come on, turn around first. Talking with an unhealthy bent back feels kind of silly."

"I could, but I'm afraid my spine would snap in half." The boo didn't react to this. At least not verbally, because instead of words, Luigi heard rattling metal - a shady sound for him, gave his fears new impetus and lent them the shape of a weapon. With two free hands, of course, the impending doom could be better handled. What could he do against the enemy now? With the agility of an oil tanker, his "knife" proved frighteningly useless. Running away also failed...he was spinning. His limbs trembled uncontrollably, sweat flowed from every pore and his head served rapidly changing images of Mario, Jeremiah, King Boo, his portrificationized, fear-distorted self and, finally, his bloated body in the harbour's dirty waters. And his friends would find him like this.

* * *

Why?! He didn't want to finish his game! Not now! Not like this! So many years he had to spend, discovering the world, finally stepping out of his brother's shadow, teaching Jeremiah how to make coffee, and and and and! Why was life so unfair and dumped him like a piece of rubbish?!

That was it. Luigi couldn't hold on to himself anymore. It built up like magma in a volcano, threatening to tear him apart from the inside if he didn't let it out right away. The brain was already shutting down and couldn't provide any additional resources like thinking, except for the basic functions of survival. It could only open his mouth, and already from a tiny slit, everything that troubled him broke out screaming into the world: shrill – and angry.

Then something rammed into his back.

For a short time, the never-ending screaming mixed with a loud crash and within the blink of an eye, Luigi found himself on the hard planks, the bulbous nose of the fall flat as a flounder and had completely failed as a damper.

* * *

Silently, he remained lying, stretched out. His eyes were wide open, not fixed on any point and looked straight ahead. Like the body of a shipwrecked man who had fought the elements for days and finally had to admit defeat. On the beach, washed over and around by the maltreating waves, the scavengers had a welcome meal. The heart, unlike those unhappy souls, continued to beat, unnoticed by the rest of the body.

"Don't pretend to be so theatrically dead, is your back better now?"

Shocked, the seemingly dead reanimated, leapt up, built up some distance, turned around and came to a halt face to face with the boo. Warningly, the key was raised, the tip sparkled in the lamplight and another flash gave the bunch of keys the shape of several blades. The plumber's steely stare showed no effect, but his tool shall impose his will.

"Do you still want to kill me?" the boo asked with a serious expression and lifted the lantern from the ground. "After I've straightened your back? Are you crazy? What have I ever done to you? I've told you I'm not with King Boo!"

"A good deed doesn't make you trustworthy right away," Luigi countered in the same tone of voice, after the rest of the reconstructed brain regions had told him that he was standing upright. His spine was still showing signs of a painful aftermath, but should soon recover. Nevertheless, he forced himself to say "Thank you anyway".

* * *

The ghost snorted laughing.

"Pah, so I have to earn your trust first, huh? And what, pray tell, shall I do to prevent you from jamming the key into my eye when I make a supposedly wrong move?"

If he had his way, Luigi would lock him in a box and only let him out when they were back home. But his Polterpup alone was the perfect example of why ghosts mercilessly destroyed such a plan. Drumming into him that one wanted to take a bath and not be disturbed and one locked the door? Didn't stop him from coming into the bathroom and watching him or, alternatively, begging to be allowed to get into the tub with him. What the plumber actually needed for the boo was the professor's escape-proof container.

On the other hand, however, what carved a fine crack in his solidly built image of these creatures, was the latter had gone so far as to help him with his back problem instead of reaping the benefits from his misery. Was this man really the first peaceful representative of his kind? Or did he simply want to lull him into a false sense of security?

"So if you have nothing else to say and are just staring," the monster dispelled the unpleasant silence in frustration, "I would like to end this waste of time and get this stinking cockleshell going again. And to do that, we need a crew first." He was already turning his face away from him. Not so fast!

"Just keep your hands where I can see them." A smile mixed onto Luigi's tense face for a moment. He _always_ wanted to say that!

"If that's all, so that we don't bash our faces in, then whatever. Can we go now?"

* * *

Before that, the ghost hunter checked the cleaning staff thoroughly. Especially the headscarf was scanned by the eyes for suspicious bulges that could indicate concealed utensils. To hide a picture frame underneath was physically impossible, but one never knew. Just when the boo looked as if he wanted to annihilate him with his look, Luigi straightened up and let the bunch of keys slide into his trouser pocket. Then he nodded and said, "Yes, but I'm watching you. Understand?"

His reluctant partner merely turned to face the hatch, apparently without responding. But when Luigi focused his concentration to the ghost, he heard a soft murmur between thunder, waves and fluttering sails. "What are you talking about?" the plumber asked alarmed, but waited for an answer until the boo had reached the first step of the stairs and illuminated them for him.

"I said it's a disgrace that I have to be treated like a criminal just because of my race." Luigi's reason for the bad reputation followed unabashedly not a second later.

"No wonder, as your kind has done..."

"Oh, just shut up and come on. Chop-chop, will you?" For this tone, Luigi thought about taking the lamp from the cheeky rascal, but fighting over a light source in the middle of the darkness rarely turned out well. So, no matter how tempting it was to make the crook dance to his tune with the lantern.

* * *

"You don't happen to have a mobile phone on you by chance, do you?" the boo suddenly asked, but couldn't hide a certain expectation.

"No, it was taken from me along with my wallet," Luigi replied. "Did the captain also slip that sleeping draught off on you?"

"Unfortunately yes, and I really should have suspected something. He was quite a miser; he only let the holes in the ship's sides patch up when a blooper was washed into the lower deck and soaked everything with ink. And then suddenly arriving with tea for all the passengers just doesn't suit him." He growled and contracted his mouth until his teeth made contact with the bottom lips. "Not only did that bastard steal my headphones, he also owes me two months' salary. Now I have to see how to scrape enough cash together for rent." Now he beat the tips of his arms against each other twice. "I tell you, when we find that mug, I'm gonna shove my mop so far up his butt, he won't be able to sit down for the rest of his life!"

Here Luigi agreed with him for the second time. Although the thing with the apartment seemed extremely strange to him, because in his opinion, a boo should never have gotten one, as wicked as they were. But this was a question for later and he breathed another "thank you" in the direction of his partner, which wasn't met with any reaction by the ghost.

* * *

So their common plan was clear: find Beanelda and the couple, put the ship into operation and find the way home. The first two steps shouldn't be a problem - the final part, however, would decide everything.

Arriving at the hatch, the escort was already positioned next to him and lit up for him.

"If we hurry, we can still escape the storm," Luigi's companion informed with a glance out to the sea. "Because if not, I hope you're a good swimmer. That dead-beat boat will probably not survive it." A tacit nod of the head confirmed the hint, whereupon the ghostbuster paused regardless. There was still one important detail missing before he could go to work with a clear conscience.

"You still haven't told me your name. I don't know about you, but it makes me nervous when people know me, but I don't."

"Booccaneer" the ghost gave his name without emotion and made no attempt to offer him a free arm to shake hands with. Not that the couch-potato took offence at this, would even have refused. "That's all you need to know." Well, Luigi certainly didn't need to know in which criminal activities he was involved in; the name was sufficient.

After this brief introduction, the two finally went below deck.


	5. Chapter 5

Toad Town. One of many inhabited places in the vast plains of the Mushroom Kingdom, located away from the busy routes and of small, inconspicuous stature. Overshadowed by metropolises like Diamond City not only in size but equally in entertainment, architecture and economic power, the little town shrank to a speck on the jacket by national standards. Neither did it possess a dedicated district for recreation, nor a capable industrial park to elevate the location to a trading post - in fact, the potential was so low, even Wario had not found it necessary to expand his empire into this corner of the realm through a branch. It was no place for the pursuit of a successful career, the search for fun, both of which could be found in abundance in the big cities. Those who stayed usually appreciated the peace, clean air and proximity to nature, or simply could not afford the surrounding rents.

And despite all that, the spot in question was by no means the most insignificant settlement.

On the contrary: there may be richer, even more beautiful communities. But none of them formed the political centre from which the destiny of the nation was directed. Together with the bonus of attracting tourists from all over the world who wanted to see either the castle or the princess. And were happy to loosen their purses to do so.

All this, however, could not prevent the darkness from doing its work undisturbed every day, after sunset, sucking the life out of the otherwise sleepy little town, turning it into a dead shell. Most of the windows and streetlights were blacked out and covered with shutters, as if the inhabitants were trying to keep a hostile force out. Only the rare bar offered party animals a refuge with its colourful lighting - if anyone at all was still on the move during that hour, whether on foot or at the wheel of a vehicle, to a destination known only to the traveller or travellers.

Mario and Jeremiah were among those travellers that night, with a clear destination in mind.

* * *

A little slower than the speed limit, the red sports car drove through the streets, bringing with it echoing engine noise. In commuter traffic, it would have been smothered by all other sources of noise. Alone, however, it roared unhindered from the walls, and Mario sometimes feared that it would disturb the sleep of one or two residents. He was sure if any of them heard the slightest commotion, they wouldn't hesitate to call the police. But his mission was too important to care about some grouchy grandpa whose only joy in life was staring out the window and snapping at every passer-by for the seemingly smallest offence. Of course, he could not, must not, expect the same care from bystanders, so he hoped to reach the harbour as quickly as possible to reduce the nuisance.

At the same time, however, he reduced his speed every time a person came into view: his ghostly co-driver had made it his business to keep an eye out for passers-by and cars and to assist the hero with identification. Often, a fleeting stare in their direction was enough. Other times, however, it took a little longer, especially when slender and boxy silhouettes played tricks on the senses. Who knew if Luigi was shuffling disoriented through the streets, let alone still wearing the same clothes? Maybe they would get lucky and he would come towards them in his battleship of a rusty brown station wagon. But it was nothing more than a hope born of worry. The older brother didn't even dare to think about what would happen afterwards if they didn't find who they were looking for at the harbour. A failure was an offence he couldn't possibly forgive himself for.

* * *

His last visit to the harbour was a while ago. Long enough that he would have had to make up the route from scraps of memory if they had set off without navigation software. What had he been there for again? For business reasons, as a saviour, so to speak? Or entirely private? But no matter how much he rummaged through his memory, he just couldn't figure it out. Mario's numerous adventures in the world and beyond were far more remarkable than any conventional trip to the ice-cream parlour, so he could remember the routes from locations alone; he was angry at himself for not knowing Toad town better, despite being a long time resident, and had become dependent on technology. The lack of signage did the rest.

"In 50 metres, turn left," spoke their female electronic companion. The moustachioed driver followed the instruction unquestioningly, carefully braking the car to a halt at the four-way intersection and securing himself on all sides. He could have sworn he had seen this clothes shop and two-storey apartment building on another corner earlier, but perhaps his brain was just creating memories where there weren't any. More reason then to trust the gentle voice. Unless it guided him into the middle of a body of water, but he felt confident that he would not fall for such an oversight. What he was particularly counting on at the moment, however, was that Jeremiah would pick up Luigi's scent at the destination.

Having become convinced that he would find neither another vehicle nor Luigi on a collision course, Mario steered his vehicle through the intersection according to the suggested route.

* * *

"Destination on the right." Already there? Positively surprised, Mario's gaze grazed the row of residential buildings with mushroom roofs, punctuated by a small bakery, squeezed in between as if the gap had to be filled at any cost. There, hidden in the shadows, impossible to spot for strangers without headlights: a narrow alley, the endpoint of the set route. Then he looked at the analogue clock on the dashboard: the hand had not advanced far, about ten minutes since crossing the city limits. The forest and the country road had taken more time altogether.

However, every single one of the 1,800 seconds was already too much, and when he saw that stupid red round sign along with the white bar inside it, it became conveniently invisible to the naked eye. Except for the "DELIVERY VEHICLES ONLY" directly below it, of course. Because rescue could be delivered just as well.

"Just through this alley, little man," Mario spoke encouragingly to the dog, while the former manoeuvred the car through the narrow opening at walking pace. But from the passenger side came only silence. Unusually, he knew Jeremiah as a bundle of energy with sometimes questionable manners, which Luigi hoped to drive out over the course of the coming weeks and months. He would have liked to know what was going on in the ghost. Though the hero firmly believed he had his full support. At least his brother had spoken highly of Jeremiah, highlighting how without him, they would never have survived the hotel.

The alley, meanwhile, was so tight, Mario could not afford even the tiniest distraction if he wanted to keep his side mirrors. Scratches, colourful streaks, and worn plaster on the walls at different heights made it clear to him in a most unpleasant way that he was far from being the first driver - which he didn't care about. Even when an abrupt jolt went through the bodywork and Jeremiah yelled out briefly, Mario did not consider the sudden absence of his side mirror with a blink. More important was spotting the huge paddlewheel of a steamer in the beam of the lamps: they had finally arrived.

* * *

As it manoeuvred, the car illuminated a row of ships and boats, each one moored double, triple, even quadruple next to wooden jetties, so that they would not break loose during a storm and either drift out to sea or explore the wonders of underwater life. At first glance, the place, lit by a few street lamps, seemed deserted, like the rest of the city. Apart from a strolling seagull that flew away screeching into the night sky as the machine approached, there was no one outside. Confronted by the emptiness, Mario fancied his chances of meeting witnesses who had firstly seen Luigi and secondly had not yet erased him from their memory, especially at this late hour. Because of the approaching storm, even the most hardened night owls were sure to stay off the streets. He was therefore less willing to bet on them. And he certainly didn't want to wake up the inhabitants.

Was his brother possibly still in town somewhere? Or had he unintentionally sneaked past them, opened the front door and wondered why no one was around and the TV was on? A few calls to Luigi's number certainly couldn't hurt.

He wasn't picky about where to park and stopped the car next to the roll-up door of a crumbling warehouse. But just as the ignition key was turned, Jeremiah jumped through the passenger door, leaving the driver stiff with shock. "Hey hey hey, wait!" shouted Mario after him: if the dog combed the harbour on his own, he would lose him too! Possibly to the same people who had Luigi in their grasp and weren't intimidated by the Mario Bros' moustaches!

Immediately, he ripped his phone out of its anchorage on the windscreen, pushed the door against the wall and hurried out of the car, locking it with the radio key.

* * *

He came to an abrupt halt when he saw Jeremiah busily sniffing the floor by the door. Although he leaned against the bonnet, pleased not to have to catch the boy, he still did not allow himself some relaxation. At any moment, Jeremiah could shoot off in any direction and he had to be able to follow.

"Yes, good boy, look for daddy!" he cheered him on with a smile and sure enough, Jeremiah moved slowly towards the quay after that, his nose perpetually down. A hot trail! He stopped here and there and reoriented himself, but in the end, he was on course for the ships. A dog's nose could not be wrong! That's what Mario's little retained knowledge from biology class told him.

The hero wanted to use this leisurely pace to make a phone call. However, as soon as he took the phone in his hands and aimed at the buttons, both a muffled rumbling and whining entered his ears directly in front of him. Even as he looked up in wonder, a luminous transparent figure slipped past him and pressed against his back. But what his eyes definitely took in during this little confusion was a brightly shining cloud cover in the distance, over the ocean. That was just what Mario needed!

* * *

He immediately warded off the fears by turning to the trembling picture of misery, looking into its frightened face and sternly urging it to move on. "Come on, keep going! You're not going to let those noises drive you up the wall!" For additional strength, he even placed himself behind him and pushed him gently, but Jeremiah only yelped and leant into him. Of all things, he had to be afraid of a thunderstorm? But Mario couldn't force him. Should his companion develop downright panic attacks under his supervision, Luigi would tear his head off. "This is really the worst time to give-"

Once again, the thunderstorm audibly announced its arrival.

A strident bark, a frustrated plumber, and the dog had disappeared into the ground.

At first, pragmatically, he thought Jeremiah would follow him underground; a quick glance over his shoulder, on the other hand, only served to refuel his anger, as he found the silvery glow in the car. He had absolutely no nerves left for such nonsense now. He would just have to carry out the rescue operation on his own. Business as usual. "A great dog you've got there," Mario grumbled, shook his head with a sigh and marched to the piers.

* * *

There he stood, staring at the nondescript stern of a rusty trawler, as if waiting for some answer from the boat. It had surely had plenty of adventures in its career and could rattle off lists of visitors and ships if only it had a mouth. But if the metallic groan was an attempt at communication, Mario surrendered now rather than later and went over to the next landing.

He was all too painfully aware that he was clutching at straws by now. What he would give for just one sign, even a small one, of whether Luigi was at sea or on land.. A scrap of clothing, black facial hair, shards of glass, something! Driven solely by the stubborn refusal to simply sit down and wait for a miracle, he was unwilling to accept that there was nothing more he could do. If he had to turn over every stone, it would happen! But before that, he wanted to exhaust all other possibilities.

Then he found it. Between the fishing boat and the tugboat. What should not be, and yet existed before his eyes. An anomaly. Which, after long, agonising hours, gave back some of his carefree personality and culminated in a leap in the air, complete with upraised fist.

An occupied mooring. Nothing new so far. What didn't fit with the rest, however, was the vehicle. For what was tied there on a thin rope, tossed around by the waves like a rubber duck in a bathtub and regularly hurled against the pier, was nothing other than a jet ski.

* * *

This vehicle was not supposed to be here. Mario was 99.9 percent sure that it was illegally occupying the commercial space and belonged to the marina next-door, preferably on a trailer. There was no way it would survive the night like that. Had it possibly been temporarily parked? Was it waiting to be picked up? Or had it simply been forgotten? Commercial use was undoubtedly conceivable, thus everything could have been correct. Only his brain did not allow for the latter explanation. There _had_ to be a connection to Luigi! With this wetbike, the scoundrel had abandoned ship and crew! Anything else would have thrown Mario back into the darkness. This ray of hope had to be preserved.

Spontaneously, the idea came to him to hop on and search the baggage compartment, if any, for evidence. A few laws did not prevent him from doing the right thing. The unpredictably wild movements, however, which did credit to a random number generator, made this an increasingly dangerous undertaking with every passing second. No matter how many burdens Mario was prepared to take on for his brother's sake, cold shock was not on the list. How would it fare for Jeremiah to mourn two losses in one day?

In retrospect, it felt easier to manoeuvre a giant ball through an obstacle course. Or collecting purple coins across dissolving platforms. These images made his bile rise: never again.

Apparently just to smear it in his face, an unexpectedly powerful gust of wind lifted his cap from his forehead. Fortunately, the brothers shared the same reflexes and he managed to avoid the early separation. A small shower from high splashing water, on the other hand, didn't.

Silently boiling, he paused, waiting until most of it had dripped from his face. Then he stepped back, quietly cursing, rubbing his eyes dry and shaking his limbs, partly automatically. "Mama mia, a warm place would be nice now ..."

* * *

Still, for the sake of the jet ski, he risked an approach. In the veil of darkness, the waves were barely visible and as soon as one noticed them, it was usually too late for dry socks. Whereas before they contributed to a calming ambience, now they broke violently against the quays thanks to the tailwind. Mario's distinctive cap, in particular, had little to laugh about because of the latter, but at least the soaked fabric made it heavier now.

What he found down there drew a spiteful grin on the corners of his mouth. Helpless as a beetle, the machine presented its belly, including the propeller, and no matter how many more waves washed over it, it could no longer free itself from its predicament. The larger neighbours, on the other hand, were quite calm - a little wobbly, but the hawsers kept them safely in place. Nature would have needed guns of tsunami calibre!

Then, however, the royal bodyguard looked at another discharge. And with the thunder, a realisation reached him that liquefied the foundation of his painstakingly built courage, raised hurdles and shrank his previous successes to nothingness.

Two final calls.

It beeped.

"Hello! This is Luigi Mario's mailbox! Unfortunately -"

Remained the house line.

Beeping.

"Dear GarliCom customer: the number you have dialled is currently unavailable. Please -"

Without a sound, the device slid back into the pocket.

* * *

His features relaxed. A second, particularly powerful wave caught him, but he didn't even flinch. Only a familiar tap mixed with a jangle could get him to react, and even then he merely looked to the side. Soon, a translucent nose nudged his skin and a pair of empty, glowing eyes sought contact with his own. Again there was a rumble of thunder, and though his partner started whimpering, he did not run away.

It was done unconsciously, but the very presence of the Polterpup made Mario smile and he patted him on the cheek. Jeremiah may have contributed little so far; but heroism was not acquired exclusively through great successes, such as freeing princesses. Sometimes it was enough to offer oneself as emotional support, yes, to convey the feeling of not being alone with one's hardships. Without him, would the plumber have simply remained sitting in the house, snivelling?

After a moment's thought, he finally said, "Thank you, young man, for venturing out into the storm for me." Jeremiah's mood changed rapidly. His mouth stretched wide, upwards to his eyes and he bowed his head. A hand on his forehead, however, startled him, Mario having recognised the tip of his tongue in time. "But don't lick, okay?" he admonished, and although Jeremiah's euphoria was curbed, it was rekindled by Mario's grin. And the hero wondered: why couldn't he himself be so easily excited? Feel joy at the smallest attention? And above all, how could Jeremiah make the world a better place through a single gifted smile, while Mario had to solve other people's problems first to do so?

That, on the other hand, was a topic for the coffee morning next weekend.

* * *

Now that both were united at the pier, it was time for that question. One that would set the tone for the night. Whether they would go home empty-handed or search the town. Mario feared it, looked around again, and bet on his luck. But no Luigi around the corner.

Meanwhile, Jeremiah followed his gaze and when he discovered nothing of interest, he tilted his head and stared curiously at his foster uncle. Could dogs cry? Earlier, he had not been satisfied with Mario's distress after the emergency call and had practically encouraged him to search. If, however, he was about to find out in black and white that his master was out of reach, then what?

The very possible and ugly truth squeezed the plumber from everywhere, as if he were trapped in a press, until it hurt, and keeping up the smile only made it hurt more. He was shaking and didn't want to, and as if in self-protection, a lump formed in his throat. A nightmare, that was it! Hold on a bit, then he would wake up in a cold sweat, phone to his little brother and everything would be back to normal.

Still, why did the pain feel so real and not release him from the illusion? Did it even command him to speak the question, or did the burden threaten to crush him?

It forced him to look at Jeremiah, but graciously allowed him to keep a friendly expression. No, Mario could not delay it any longer. Better to end with a short, sharp shock than to prolong the agony.

* * *

"What about daddy's trail, did you find anything new?"

It was a complete mystery to him how Jeremiah managed to somehow make his empty eyes seem emptier. At the same time, they instilled in him a desire, intensified by the pain, to smack the ghost dog. But there was one thing a slipping hand could prevent: wasn't Jeremiah very much like his owner? Sometimes slow-witted and easily distracted ... airheads simply, who justified the existence of the proverb "Birds of a feather flock together". It would have been nice to save this for peaceful times, but it didn't happen in bad faith anyway.

After that, at least, the penny dropped for Jeremiah. After a whimper, his nose picked up the scent for the second time and Mario watched as the Polterpup slowly made its way to the car. The rescuer would have liked to hope for relief. However, by now, his thoughts had become so infested with doubt, that his wishful thinking had taken on the realism of a utopia. An event so nice, so unattainable, except for the naïf who had not been brought to his knees by the rules of society. Yet.

* * *

Halfway there, Jeremiah turned back. A turn accepted by Mario without emotion. Almost like - expected. Expected that Luigi was neither at the port, nor in town. Expected that their search would lead to no success. Expected that they would get in the car and drive back. Had they reached a dead end?

Unperturbed, the dog sniffed its way past him to a point on the jetty, right on the edge. All at once, the next wave broke against the facilities; too weak to hit Mario, though this was not true of Jeremiah. It threw its gush of saltwater so sneakily ashore and against him, he yelped only when he was lying on his side and the hero hurriedly knelt down to him. "Oh dear, are you all right?" But Jeremiah merely rose - Mario wisely held his hands in front of his face - shook off the wetness and continued working conscientiously.

The man in red followed this behaviour with interest: the Polterpup did not whine, as Mario's friends, including himself, liked to do at the slightest setback, but instead embodied calmness personified. Wasn't that another trait the moustachioed plumber could adopt through inspiration? From none other than Luigi's pet?

* * *

Mario turned his attention to the car again. Comfortable seats with heating were an invitation to retreat, to stay sheltered from the wind and cold, to sit back and let things take their course. Giving up felt extremely tempting, almost reasonable, given the lack of options. Not knowing when to call it quits could get someone into more trouble than the effort was worth.

The more he thought about it, the weaker the pain became, and with it the incentive more irresistible. Stepping in now would have made him understand that he had done everything in his power. Was that so reprehensible? After all, even he, the _Super Mario_ , could not save everyone. Perhaps a house was currently burning somewhere in Diamond City and he was not present. He would certainly have perished in the action anyway. Professionals were usually equipped and trained for the job at hand, and sea rescues were likely to be no different. Following on from this, he sought confirmation for his thoughts on the wetbike - capsized and a plaything of the sea, the rope damaged by the strain. Of course, he could "borrow" a boat; his stamina, however, was in the stars, and as far as that was concerned, he literally saw black.

* * *

A yowling steadily increasing in pitch next to Mario drew his concentration from the water scooter to Jeremiah, who turned around several times on the spot until he stopped and looked at him pleadingly. He wanted an answer. One that promised him confidence. One that could bring his master back. The main thing was that their search did not end here, one step from the abyss.

But Mario didn't smile. Worse, he slowly turned his head from right to left and left to right, over and over again. Jeremiah didn't seem to take any notice of it, but Mario understood that he had to process the revelation first. He didn't push him, as it had taken him a while to gain acceptance. What he still needed to work on, however, was a plan B. Going out on his own clearly occupied the letter Z.

After seconds of unbroken eye contact, finally, for what felt like minutes, Jeremiah turned away from him and sat down at the end of the pier. At this, the hero thought he missed one thing: the beating of his conscience, as punishment for his way of telling him instead of giving him hope. Earlier in the house, well, he might have been a little kinder. But now everything came to light, the train for lies had long since left the station. In the end, this valley spared no one.

* * *

At first, Jeremiah remained rigid as a figurehead, not losing his composure even from the spray of another wave, and Mario brooded over whether he should sit with him. Did the Polterpup need some time to himself? Did he consider Mario's refusal a betrayal? Of him? Of Luigi? Was this nonetheless the moment for the hero to offer comfort? To him, it looked more like one of those situations where every decision was the wrong one. That's why he chose something completely different: Plan B. And smiled confidently.

Then Jeremiah put his head back, stretched his mouth into the air - and the surroundings were filled with a deep howl, the voice carried by a melancholy that made Mario sniffle and although the latter was standing behind him, he had to cover his eardrums. Was this Jeremiah's way of crying? Or a pitiful plea to the sea and sky?

So it was official.

Luigi was out there.

He did not intervene, however. Denying someone their own grief because it "just wasn't seemly" was one of the most controversial norms in the world today, dictating positivity alone without providing outlets for the negative emotions, such as anger, fear, and sadness. No wonder the barrel overflowed for one or the other at the most inopportune moments, with sometimes unfortunate consequences. Mario didn't want to take that away from him and therefore only listened, which did not mean that he remained idle.

* * *

Their trail stopped at the jetty. That was a fact. Thus, was that the end of the line?

Not by a long shot!

Because finding out Luigi's whereabouts was the _easy_ part. The _real_ work was just beginning.

So, where was the harbour master's office?


End file.
